


Dirty Business

by DarlingHazel



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blackmail, Implied/Referenced Underage Drinking, Masturbation, Other, Strippers & Strip Clubs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-04-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:08:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 46,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23065264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingHazel/pseuds/DarlingHazel
Summary: Steve Harrington likes to go to bars and clubs, messes around in the city a lot and gets away with his looks. Billy Hargrove, a student at his school he's come to avoid, on the other hand, isn't afraid to get into the deeper parts of nightlife, city life, or even crime life.Without wanting to, Steve ends up owing him. All while he feels a never-leaving pair of eyes anytime he's outside his house.(alternatively, Billy's part of a dirty family business and student money extortion, Steve gets more involved than he'd like)
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 24
Kudos: 75





	1. Troublemaker

It’s all blue and purple and black and neon and _golden._

Fuck, Steve knows.

Billy Hargrove’s a fucking troublemaker.

Pulls up to school in an old-school car but makes it work, stands out with his long curly hair and uses his devilishly good looks to get all the ladies under his arms as well as deceive the teachers. Because good looking student equals good attitude, that’s the kind of shit the teachers live under.

But it doesn’t, because Hargrove’s the worst. Shoves kids in lockers, gets whatever he wants, barely passes in any class but English and has access to all kinds of shit others could only dream of. Fucking drives a _motorcycle_ and gets away with it.

And if you owe Hargrove anything, you’d better pray, because he _will_ make sure you deliver. Doesn’t matter how.

And wouldn’t you fucking guess it, Steve Harrington owes him a lot. That big mouthed devil, that he _swore_ he wouldn’t get involved with, helped him and dealt with his shit and now Steve’s practically got a bounty on his name.

He’s rich, he can pay off the financial shit, but he doesn’t have to pay _anything._ It’s that he met Billy at a stupid fucking nightlife area in the city and under the worst circumstances.

Steve was messing around with an older guy, just trying to get a free drink at some sickeningly-lit bar, then the guy started getting way too handsy and Billy came in. Saved his ass and bought him a free drink, but threatened him all the same.

Shit like, _faggots like you don’t fit in at Hawkins, that drink wasn’t free for me_ and _I didn’t save you to fuck you._

So, Steve’s on the list of owing Billy shit. Much to his chagrin.

And Billy Hargrove’s a fucking troublemaker.

Bad mouths every teacher. Doesn’t talk behind people’s backs, talks shit smack dab in front of them, and they can’t do _shit. Everyone’s_ owed Hargrove something at some point. Nobody’s safe.

And Billy Hargrove doesn’t usually ask people to buy him shit, because he’s likely already got it. He gets people to ruin their own lives, do his dirty work for him, and nobody knows for sure everyone who’s done the dirty work because nobody speaks up, but they _know_ that he’s vaguely referenced the dirty work once or twice. Nobody even fucking knows what the dirty work _is,_ how Hargrove gets all his money.

Tommy Hagan, ever the pleaser, would go around school claiming he’s Hargrove’s partner in crime but Steve knows better. Nobody smart would ever hire Hagan for anything illegal or legal. And even with all the bare passes, Steve knows Hargrove isn’t stupid. He’s manipulative, he knows what he wants, and he gets it. Nobody dumb enough can do that.

Unless Hargrove’s some special kind of stupid, but Steve highly doubts it.

School’s the least of everyone’s concerns at this point though, they’ve all ruined their own lives enough with Hargrove that they’re more concerned with just seeing school through and finding a way to move away as soon as possible. Well, most of them. Some others were safe. Like Steve. Until, he got into death sentence in Billy’s eyes.

Fuck.

It’s not like they’re all complete depressed assholes, they’re the same assholes, but they practice caution a bit more and turn a blind eye to Billy. Even the teachers.

“Harrington,” a deep, threatening voice oozing with _warnings_ and _danger signs_ looms in the air behind him.

Steve can feel the sweat dripping off him, even in an air conditioned place like the school halls. It’s nighttime, Steve’s here for a club meeting. Nobody else is around right now but him and, as he turns, Billy fucking Hargrove himself.

The guy he swore he wouldn’t mess with.

_Fuck._

“Hargrove,” he greets back. Tries to look composed and straight-faced, but he can’t help the twitch of his brows. And as he examines Hargrove, he sees the other’s prepared.

Dark leather jacket, red unbuttoned shirt showing the slightest hint of a tattoo that Steve’s only ever seen in practice, and a duffle bag hanging from his fingers pressing against his leather jeans. He’s not usually this fancy. And when Steve looks, Billy’s got a cig in his mouth and an expressionless face. It’s completely unreadable, and it ticks Steve off.

He can get out of this, he’s got connections too, he’s got his _family._

Then Hargrove tosses the duffle bag on the ground carelessly, nods towards it and Steve, “Take this shit to Hagan. He’s waiting by the gymnasium.”

Hargrove’s voice echoes in the emptiness of the hall, and Steve can taste the blood on his tongue if he doesn’t do anything but he stands, staring at the bag. “What is it?”

“Did I fucking stutter? Take it to Hagan. And _don’t_ open it.”

And then when Steve looks up, Hargrove’s walking all relaxed and nonchalant out the building.

_Alright, asshole. Have it your way._

Steve begrudgingly picks up the bag, only to nearly topple over at the weight. _Jesus fucking Christ, what’s in this thing?_

He’s not as strong as Billy, that’s for sure, but he isn’t _weak._ So he grips the straps and stretches his back as he strainfully pulls it up. It doesn’t weigh as much once it’s finally picked up, but Steve can still only marvel at how Billy was able to walk like he usually does with this duffle bag at his side.

The walk to the gym is longer than usual, Steve has to make a few stops to switch the duffle bag from hand to hand because the straps dig into his palms and fingers all too uncomfortably and he just needs that little bit of relief. It’s a quiet, eerie walk though.

The windows only show the streets with all the cars swinging past and all the trees moving around with the wind. The moon’s covered, and the stars aren’t out still. Steve can’t help but feel like he’s almost being _watched._

From the windows, maybe, but sometimes it feels like whatever’s watching him is _inside._

The feeling just never leaves, and he’s used to it enough that he knows not to bother thinking about it, but it still makes him shudder with a chill down his spine.

Finally he arrives at the doors of the gym and pushes them open to reveal…

Well, _nothing._

Tommy’s not there like Hargrove said he’d be, and there’s no evidence that anybody was ever here at all. It’s completely empty and dark, faintly lit from the lights shining in from the halls, and the mostly-obscured moon manages to cast a dim blue light over everything. Enough to make out that. Well. _Nobody’s here._

For a moment Steve thinks he’s been stood up, pranked or maybe the thing in the duffle bag is gonna get him in trouble. Maybe Hargrove’s trying to get him in fucking _trouble._ But Steve finds he can’t open the duffle bag, because some little inkling of absolute fear convinces him that maybe there really is something important in there. Maybe Hargrove will jump him if he does anything like that.

So, he toughens up and walks into the gym. Maybe the lockers will have something.

The door closes loudly behind him and he jumps, and that’s when he realizes his heart’s going _wild._ A gut feeling swirling deep inside him, telling him to drop the bag off and leave or something. But he perseveres, both in fear of Hargrove and in morbid curiosity of what would happen if he stays.

Steve yet again, moves the duffle bag to his other hand and heads for the locker room. His palms are clammy and his fingers are shaking. He’s not sure why, exactly. The feeling that somebody’s watching him hasn’t gone away. It’s like eyes are digging into his spine, it’s cold and it’s ticklish and fucking annoying.

He opens the door and the lights are on. One locker’s left swinging open on its hinges, and Steve recognizes it as Tommy’s.

So, he’s here after all.

Gently, Steve drops the bag on the benches and inches to the showers, where he hears water running. He briefly considers knocking but, well. Everybody’s seen everyone’s dick before, it’s literally no different here.

So he pushes the door to the showers open and finds Tommy Hagan just fucking… _washing himself._ So fucking innocently, but at _night._ Jesus Christ, Hagan’s weird.

Steve clears his throat, and Hagan jumps before rubbing the shampoo out of his eyes vigorously. “Hold on, hold on man! Jesus.”

Steve just crosses his arms, leaning against the door and keeping his distance from the water. He’s not gonna get his new jacket dirty. Tommy keeps struggling with the shampoo and rinses it out with the water, then grabs a towel to pat at his face.

“Okay, Billy, what’s on for no-- _Steve?”_

Hagan’s face shifted from nervous excitement, to genuine concern and surprise.

“Yeah. Hargrove sent me.”

“Jesus, you owe him?” Hagan shakes his head, wraps the towel around his waist, “And here I thought the Harringtons were safe.”

“Fuck off, Hagan. He made me give you a bag.”

“A bag?”

“You know what to do with it?”

“Fuck no,” Tommy laughs and slaps Steve on the shoulder. They’re not best friends anymore, but it is a return of old habits. They were just supposed to be classmates now. After all, Tommy left Steve for Billy. Same with Carol, and all the other cool kids. Because Hargrove was bad business, and Steve was just parties and games.

And everybody just _loves_ different. Look where that got most of the fuckers.

“Did he say anything?” Tommy asks while walking into the locker room, grabbing his normal clothes from his locker and shrugging off his towel.

“Nope, just said to give it to you,” Steve states, and sits on the bench by the duffle bag. He feels like he’s away from watchful eyes now, he doesn’t feel that cold stare against his spine. His hair doesn’t tickle as much.

“Fuckin’ weirdo.” Tommy zips up his jeans and buttons it, looking between two shirts in thought. “Seriously. No idea what’s in that asshole’s head.”

It catches Steve by surprise, because Tommy’s always praising Billy and sticking close to him, but now he’s calling him a _weirdo_ and an _asshole._ It’s definitely out of the ordinary, but Steve chalks it up to banter. Maybe it’s just that he’s gotten used to it. Maybe they really are close friends.

“So, no idea then?”

“Not a fuckin’ clue,” Tommy huffs once he’s in his blue shirt. He turns around and walks to the duffle bag, rubbing his hands together with a grin, “Let’s see here, then.”

“Uh, should I be around for this?” Steve asks weary.

“Get over yourself, Billy’ll keep your mouth shut either way. I don’t see why you can’t be here.” And then Tommy’s fingers roughly grab at the zipper and pull it across swiftly. Steve feels his heart hammering against his chest. What if Billy _knows? What’s in the bag?_

Tommy grabs at the two sides and pulls it apart to get a better view of what’s inside. Steve leans in, trying to catch a peek as well.

Holy _shit._

Just as quickly as it’s opened, it’s immediately zipped back up. “Oh, fuck -- oh shit. Oh fuck. Right. I’m so fucking stupid,” Hagan hollers hysterically. He slaps the bag lightly and groans, trailing off into a maniacal laugh.

“What was that for?”

It’s _money._

A lot of it.

But that’s weird, because the bag certainly weighs a lot more than money should. _Something’s fucking hidden under there._

“Uh, I probably shouldn’t be tellin’ you this. But. Fuck.” Tommy laughs again, tears gathering at his eyes and it’s almost scaring Steve. “Money from some other students, and people, and -- shit -- I have to give it to boss.”

_Boss?_

“You mean… Hargrove?” Steve asks. It’s jarring, doesn’t make any sense to him, because Hargrove _gave him_ that. So technically, this whole trip would’ve been for nothing if Hargrove was _the boss._

And with the way Tommy stiffens, looks at Steve terrified, it’s clear it’s definitely _not_ Hargrove.

“No, just.. some guy. Look,” Tommy picks up the duffle bag effortlessly and forces a smile, “whatever you heard and saw? Don’t tell Billy, okay? My life’s on the fucking line here. Just forget it. Do what he says, save yourself. But stop before it gets too far. I know you can help yourself. Now I’m gonna fuck off and do my own thing, but keep it zipped. Got it?”

It’s all too confusing, because now there’s a boss in question, and Tommy’s saying his _life is on the line_ and at the same time trying to _help Steve._ It’s heavily concerning, because that means Billy Hargrove doesn’t stop at ruining people’s lives, he fucking _extorts_ them for money and possibly something else. Steve never knew about that at _all._

 _“Got it?”_ Tommy repeats, harsher.

“Yeah, Jesus, you can go,” Steve says, keeping his sweaty palms pressed on the bench to keep his body upright. He’s sweating so much his eyes are watering.

_Fuck. My contacts._

Tommy hums satisfied and storms out, leaving the door hanging open and Steve feels the chill of eyes again. Fuck. He shivers, covers himself and closes his eyes. Breathes.

_It’s okay. It’s okay._

The eyes are always there, they never leave. It feels like it’s more than one pair and it freaks him out. It’s getting to him right now probably because of the money, and the chill of air that comes in. And the knowledge that _Nancy_ may not be safe, because she’s always so brutally honest when Billy’s within earshot and Billy Hargrove doesn’t take shit.

But Hargrove’s never hurt Nancy, so maybe she’s safe.

Is _Steve_ safe?

He wipes his palms on his jacket and gets up, trying to avoid looking out the door or around and instead just walking out into the gym. Nobody’s there. _Nobody’s there._

He fishes his phone out of his pocket and types in his passcode as he walks out of the gym, constantly wiping his sweaty palms on his jacket as he taps on his contacts. Nancy’s _right there._ He seriously wants to tell her.

But, well, it may not be _safe._ So he takes a deep breath and turns off his phone, pockets it. It’s whatever. It’s fucking _fine._

Nobody’s gone missing because of Billy Hargrove. Steve highly doubts Billy’s a _murderer._

Just a fucking troublemaker.

Maybe no club today, Steve’s probably late by now. Maybe he should go to some _actual_ club outside of school? Or, a gay bar. Again.

_Speaking of, why was Hargrove even at a gay bar?_

He shakes the thought out of his head, because it’s probably no use questioning shit like that. Hargrove probably saw Steve getting grabbed through the window, then saw it as prime opportunity to butt in for blackmail and that’s it. Steve’s not even sure if there _were_ windows. Fuck.

The parking lot’s empty, no other cars around save for Steve and a few teachers who stay in past school time. Suspiciously, Hargrove’s car is also there.

It’s not Steve’s problem though. He heads to his car and unlocks it, about to open it before suddenly he feels hands on the back of his shirt and his heart drops.

He’s pulled back then turned around and shoved back against the car, and the edge of his car pressing against his back lets pain spread across his spine and leaves an uncomfortable lingering sting. He hisses, looks up to find Hargrove looking right at him, fists balled in the collar of his jacket.

“What the fuck, Hargrove?” He shouts. Jesus, it’s gonna bruise.

“Did you find Tommy?” Yet again, Billy’s voice drops with venom and his face is unreadable. But, there’s that little glean in his eyes that hints at something like _impatience_ and anger. He smells rich, dripping with cologne.

Steve nearly gags at the smell overwhelming his senses, “Yeah, I fucking found him! I gave him the stupid bag. Could you -- I dunno, get the fuck off me?”

It’s clear Hargrove didn’t like the attitude, in the way his brows lower and the crease between them is made more evident. But he still pushes Steve against the car once more before letting go, “And he knew what to do with it?”

_Not at first._

Steve nods. He’s kind of fucking pissed, kind of dumbfounded. Very nervous. He spares a look around, because he still feels like he’s being watched.

 _“Hey,_ answer the fucking question,” Billy growls.

“He knew! Jesus fucking Christ.”

It’s silent for a few moments, the sounds of cars driving by and crickets and birds overtaking Steve’s ears. Nothing comes out of Billy for a moment, in fact, he even looks around to confirm something.

“Alright. Okay,” Billy nods. Looks Steve dead in the eye and snarls, “You better watch your mouth, Harrington. I’m not your buddy. Don’t wanna end up saying something you might regret. Yeah?”

Steve swallows, blood running cold with fear, “Yeah, okay.”

His voice cracks, but Hargrove just smiles in a way that’s far too grotesquely cruel, and leaves to get to his car.

_Thank fucking God._

Relief fills Steve and he turns back around once Billy’s gained enough distance so he can open his door and actually get in his car safely.

_Fuck._

The moment he’s in and safe, he locks all his doors and slumps against the wheel, not caring if it’ll leave a mark on his forehead.

_Jesus fucking Christ._

It was scary, okay? _Really_ scary. Today was a shitshow as is, Jonathan was too sick to go to school and Carol started trying to rip Nancy to shreds in class. It was _stupid,_ and now Steve’s got to _really_ worry about Billy Hargrove, whatever’s watching him, and Tommy Hagan.

Despite their problems in the past, he really, really hopes Hagan’s alright.

Honest to God.

He hears a car start up to his left and raises his head momentarily to watch Hargrove pull out and probably disobey the speed limits. Fucking hell.

As that happens, his phone vibrates in his pocket and he takes it out to check.

A message from his dad.

His dad always texts at the strangest of times, but he taps it open anyways.

**_Are you ok?_ **

Scoffing, Steve starts typing back a _yeah._

That’s all he needs.

He puts his key in and twists it, starts up the radio and buckles his seatbelt. Tossing his phone to the other seat carelessly, he fishes a small container out from his bag at the back. It strains his legs to reach over, and he realizes he probably should’ve buckled his seatbelt after but he’s not exactly the most insightful person. Another reason he probably managed to get caught in Billy Hargrove’s trap.

When he’s back in his seat and taking out his contacts, he hears his phone vibrate and leans over to read it while putting his lenses back in the container.

**_Home?_ **

Probably not.

But his dad doesn’t need to know that.

So Steve smiles dumbly to himself, rolls his eyes and puts his container back in his bag. Finally, he gets his glasses case out and puts on his mildly smudged glasses. It’s just more relaxing for him, less effort for him later.

Once it’s on he lets his engines run for a bit to get some heat, hums along to the tune of _Me and Mr. Jones._

The phone vibrates again, lighting up with another message from dad.

**_Mom misses you._ **

Right. Of course.

Typical fucking guilt trip.

It’s not like Steve’s mom _is_ home, it’s that they used to call every night before bed whenever she was overseas to keep each other company while his dad was working. Steve stopped, because he got busier.

_Busier with bars and strip clubs._

With just _school._ Obviously.

It’s fine, really. He’s close to graduating soon. He’ll take a gap year, and catch up with her.

He doesn’t bother with responding, he doesn’t need to. He likes his mom. Not his dad. The phone vibrates once more.

Calmly, he picks up his phone and powers off. Tosses it at the seat again and puts his hands on the wheel.

Off to the bars again.

  
  


It must be nice to have Hargrove on your side.

Whenever somebody messes with Hagan or Perkins, Max or Tina, Hargrove’s the one who protects. In his own way. He’s not afraid of getting his hands dirty.

It’s not that Hargrove cares that much about his friends, it’s that because they’re the ones who are probably most involved with his dirty work, the ones who he’s been around enough to trust, he makes sure to pay back or keep their mouths shut. Or maybe keep them safe so they can keep doing his work, but, whatever it is, he always pays back what he owes. Fair game, in some sense.

Like, there were rumors spreading that some chick had sold herself out when she was absent from school for a few weeks with no warning or context. This chick happened to be rumored to be one of Hargrove’s dirty workers, was a more ‘genuine’ and kind popular girl that Steve never messed with, and Hargrove came out and protected her rep.

Turns out, she overworked herself with school while under Hargrove’s watchful eye, and in turn Hargrove sent some of his friends to help her catch up with work once every week while constantly checking up on her to make sure she was home and resting. It was one of the few times people believed for a moment that maybe Hargrove was a good person.

Then she was hospitalised after twisting an ankle trying to run away, crying to her friends to save her from Hargrove and help her move away.

She moved, and nobody tried pushing Hargrove for answers. They were reminded he was not a good person.

Still, it’s a good example of how Hargrove does what he needs to and protects his closer workers.

And in moments like these, where Steve’s being picked on on the side of the street in the middle of a crowd for having funky hair and a rainbow patch on his jacket, Steve really wonders what it’d be like to have Billy fucking Hargrove here.

It’s just a few students from some other school, throwing him around and laughing at him while every other passerby walks by without a second glance. The public never really cared.

“You tryna grow out your pretty hair to look like a pretty lady, fag?” Some guy with a nasally voice jokes. Steve just keeps a straight face, keeps trying to walk forward before inevitably being shoved back into the kids.

It’d be really nice if he wasn’t walking alone today. Really.

They keep mocking him until eventually he manages to push one of them off angrily and storms off and around the corner. The pavement’s wet, the people that bump shoulders with him still holding up their umbrellas even despite how light the dripping is now, and as Steve walks he rips the rainbow patch off his jacket and throws it in an alley.

“Fucking kids,” he mutters to himself and shakes his still-dripping hair. The rain was harsh tonight, but it calmed down fast. Sucks that it chose to come down right when Steve was finished with his shift at some ice cream store down the street with his classmate, Robin.

Maybe he could head over to the bar again, get into nightlife like usual. But he’s not really up for it. Nobody ever fucking accepted him, not his own dad, not his own _mom._

The bars and the clubs were the places that did, but it was unhealthy, he knew that much.

He doesn’t know where he’s walking, he’s just trying to get as far away from those kids as possible. He doubts they’re following him.

The street is emptier.

There are still cars rolling by, but the only people he sees on the sidewalks or by buildings are a little shady looking. They’re talking in whispers, some are seemingly waiting for something and when Steve looks to his right, across the street, there’s an apartment building with a biker gang looking group of people situated right by it, laughing among themselves.

Steve tugs his jacket closer to himself, even though the biker gang looks considerably more friendly than the rest of the people in the street. He should probably head the other way, back where he came from.

 _That_ option’s so much smarter.

He’s kind of curious though, because he’s never been here and he likes new things. He likes an adventure. Even if there’s a no smoking zone to his left where a couple is smoking right now.

While walking, trying to calm his nerves through breathing, he finds another bar. It’s not a gay bar by any means, it’s certainly not lit up or suggestive in any way. It’s just some bar with a boring exterior but a kind welcome mat. It’s likely the one Robin’s talked about before, where her friend works.

Honestly? Steve’s a fucking idiot.

And he prides himself on that.

So, like any idiot, he goes in without much thought and it’s…

Well, it’s a _bar._

There are three guys playing pool, looking like they belong to the biker gang outside, and a few more older men drinking and joking with themselves. It’s not filled, that’s for sure, but it is pretty cozy and the bartender, Steve recognizes from a photo Robin’s showed him, is talking sweetly with some old man. Not flirty at all, just playful banter.

Okay, so, maybe this isn’t a dumb decision.

Still, he feels weird about it all. At least there’s somebody he recognizes, albeit vaguely.

Still jittery, Steve walks over to the bar and sits on a stool, checking his watch. It’s just turned eleven, so he has plenty of time to relax. It’s not like he’ll stay for too long.

“Robin’s friend, right?” The bartender asks.

Steve looks up to catch her eyes, smiles as friendly as possible, “Steve. I just work with her, really.”

“She talks about you a lot. Name’s Heather, by the way,” she winks and plays with her brown hair. It’s definitely not flirty, and Steve doesn’t know why but she doesn’t quite fit in with the rest of the street out there. He can’t help his face from flushing a shade of pink at what she says, though, because he had a small crush on Robin for a bit back then before she came out to him.

“Nice to meet you,” Steve says and extends a hand out. It’s awkwardly formal, but Heather takes it regardless and shakes it.

“Same, dude.” Steve has to hold back a chuckle at how she talks, because it’s just so like Robin that he’s not surprised Robin talks about her a lot. “You want anything? On the house, I’m not a douche.”

“Oh, uh, I’ll have a think. I’ve never been here.”

“Never seen you around here, either. Between you and me?” She leans in, looks dead serious for a moment, “This street’s dangerous. Long as you’re a guy, or have a buddy with you, you should be fine. But Jesus, when I leave I have to get Billy on my ass.”

_Billy?_

“Hargrove?” Steve says without thinking, eyes wide.

So Billy knows Heather? _And_ this street?

“Oh, you know him?” Heather leans back, giggles while cleaning out a glass, “Yeah, him and I used to work together. He’s like a stupid brother to me, he picks me up after my shifts usually because the guys ‘round here get touchy with the girlies.”

_A… brother._

Okay, Hargrove _is definitely_ protective. And probably in a caring way.

Steve’s just getting more confused by Hargrove’s character with every word said about him.

“Huh, and… you guys worked together? Like, his…” _Dirty work._

Heather grins so friendly and shakes her head, “Nah, I don’t mean that way. We shared shifts at some pool for a bit, we might pick it up again after school. I’ve known him before that though, same neighborhood.”

_Might pick it up again after school._

She says it like Billy’s got some future other than dirty business, and honestly, Steve has to double check that this is the same Hargrove they’re talking about.

“So, like, Billy Hargrove, dirty blonde hair, tattoo on his chest spreading to his arm, from California--”

“-- Yup!” She smiles.

Okay.

Okay, so same Hargrove.

“Okay.” That’s really all Steve can muster up, and he nods, “Okay,” he repeats, “cool.”

Heather winks again and goes to deal with the old man she was talking to earlier, leaving Steve to his own thoughts.

Jesus _Christ._

Who the fuck even _is_ Billy Hargrove at this point?

Goddamn confusing is what he is. Fucking _weird._ He gets what Tommy meant now.

And honestly, he’s getting a little more involved than he’d like. He really doesn’t wanna be part of this shit, whatever this shit is, with Billy fucking Hargrove. He’d rather stay out of it and live out school with parties and friends and find his ideal girlfriend or boyfriend and get married and shit. The usual life stuff.

But he _still_ owes Hargrove and Hargrove hasn’t said _shit_ to him other than to deliver the bag. Maybe the bag was his first and last request? But that sounds like a load of shit.

Heather comes back once she’s done, probably because Steve’s around her age and it’s more comfortable for her, and she seems to notice how pale Steve’s gotten. “Woah, you good, King?”

Shit, she even gives him nicknames. Steve can see how her and Billy Hargrove would get along.

“Yeah, uh… sorry. Just worried is all.”

She hums understandably and stretches, “My shift’s nearly ending, Billy’s coming around in like, six minutes. Would you mind walking me out? I saw that gang across the street.”

“Are they nice?”

A beat.

Heather bursts into laughter, and Steve feels like. Really stupid. But she’s got a real friendly laugh, and she pats Steve on the shoulder like she’s known him _forever._

“Sorry to break it to ya, but they’re just as sexist as they look. It’s the tough looking ones that come out _past_ midnight that are the nice ones.”

 _Okay,_ so there’s another biker gang. That’s cool. Still, Steve feels a bit embarrassed. “Okay, yeah, I’ll walk you. How far?”

“Not too far, just a block or two away. Then you can stay for a bit and I can expose Robin’s deepest, darkest secrets while waiting. If the staying part’s okay with you, that is.”

Oh.

Oh _fuck yes._ Now Robin can pay for that time she poured melted ice cream down Steve’s clothes.

“Yeah, I can work with that.”

Heather’s grin widens and she pats Steve again, “Cool! I’m gonna quickly deal with this guy again, I’ll pay you back with free drinks here for the remainder of your years.”

“Okay, dark, but, I’ll take it.” She seems the type to really prioritize her friends over work, and honestly Steve’s a little shocked that she can get away with it, but he doesn’t mind.

She walks off, immediately speaking in Spanish to the older guy and, honestly? Steve is even _more_ shocked.

Still, he doesn’t wanna drink because he’s afraid he’ll throw up or do something stupid, so he chooses to instead go through his phone while waiting for the few minutes to pass.

There are some missed calls from his mom, but that’s all probably in part due to his lack of response to his dad, so he doesn’t bother covering it up. Instead he taps on Robin’s contact.

_wow heather speaks just like you_

He looks away for the briefest of moments, and immediately gets a response.

**_hey wtf ur w her??? :p shes one of my best friends for a reason_ **

_one of?_

**_ya_ **

**_ur my 2nd <3_ **

_that’s a lie_

It is, because they’re really only classmates and work partners. They joke, they mess around, but outside of school and work, they’ve never really hung out.

**_okok its thompson flushed emoji_ **

_what the fuck does flushed emoji even mean_

**_get discord_ **

_no._

Immediately, he taps out of her contact despite the three dots indicating she’s typing, because he’s _not_ gonna fall into that trap. No sir.

When he looks back up, some other bartender’s talking with Heather and it looks like her shift’s about to end. So, he straightens his jacket and gets up, still looking down at his phone in case. It shows a notification at the top that Robin’s said something, but he’s not gonna look. Just in absolute spite.

Of course, _playful_ spite. He’s not an asshole.

“I only asked ‘cause I trust you more than the rest of these guys, and you look like you can handle yourself on the way back,” Heather says before slipping into the back room to get changed.

Okay, he can pride himself on that. He’s a cool idiot.

He’s had his fair share of shitty parties and shitty fights, having to walk back and forth long distances and hiding from Tommy whenever they played hide and seek as kids.

Well. It’s. Not hide and seek anymore, but still. He’s got cool hiding skills is the point.

Heather comes out after a minute or so dressed in a simple sweater, coat, and leggings. She takes Steve by the forearm and smiles at the other bartender, “Good luck,” she says. The bartender rolls his eyes with a fond smile and Steve just. Understands. She’s so friendly.

They walk out together, with Heather’s arm in Steve’s like he’s escorting her, which he kind of is, and they head to the left. So. Further down the road, further from where Steve came.

“So, you live in the city?” Heather asks while they’re walking, looking ahead with a straight face. It’s a little bit of a direct contrast to her in the bar, because she doesn’t look as friendly or smiley. More serious. It kind of makes Steve nervous, but she’s probably doing it just to keep creeps away or something.

“Nah, I live just outside. I’m a Harrington, you know.”

“Oh, rich kid? Nice. Is Hawkins High fun? Was thinking of asking my dad to let me move in, he wants to take me to a private school. It’s fuckin’ dumb.”

Okay. So she swears, too.

“It’s okay. Most the kids there have kind of been fucked over by Hargrove, though.”

Heather scoffs, which still scares Steve because she looks so stern and they keep walking. He feels another vibration in his pocket and he’s half-tempted to look, but it might be from his dad.

“Are you gonna reply back?” Heather asks curiously.

“Might be my dad, I dunno.” He doesn’t need to.

She hums and they keep walking.

It’s quiet, save for the dripping of the rain and the puddles they walk into occasionally. There’s little to no cars at this point, strangely enough, and Steve can only assume this part of the street isn’t very crowded for a reason.

Then Heather leans in a bit, and whispers, “Somebody’s following us.”

_The eyes._

It’s probably the eyes.

So he’s not alone, he isn’t hallucinating. Someone’s _really_ there.

“I think it’s me,” he confesses gently, looking straight ahead. It catches him off guard, though, because Heather’s _aware,_ and she hasn’t even looked around. She just knows.

“You know them?” She asks, wrapping her arm tighter in Steve’s.

“No. I thought I was crazy.”

“Billy can deal with them,” she offers, looking straight at him when they come to a sudden stop.

No.

No way.

“I’m fine, thanks. I’ll deal with it.”

Heather stares at him for a moment, and it fucking creeps him out, but then she sighs and smiles, pats his shoulder and brings out her phone. “Okay, but if you need help, ask Robin for my number,” she says while looking at her texts.

Steve nods.

_Oh, fucking idiot._

She can’t _see_ him.

“Yeah, okay, thanks,” he stammers. What a first impression.

A few minutes pass of Heather typing away with one hand and Steve looking at the ground nervously. He still feels the eyes on him, but he’s less concerned with himself and more of for Heather.

Wait, actually.

He’s terrified.

Because the streets aren’t crowded here, and so if those eyes get to him, nobody will find him. Nobody will _hear,_ or, hell, even _do anything._

Fuck, maybe he should’ve gotten some booze or something. Drown out his fears.

Faintly, the sound of engines echoes down the far too vacant road, and both Steve and Heather look up to find a motorcycle approaching. Some man with a zipped up familiar leather jacket and a helmet covering his face. Smoke bellows out from under, and Heather just cheers happily next to Steve.

It’s definitely breaking speed limits.

It zooms in like, _fast,_ and comes to a screeching halt by the two. Heather’s untwined her arm from Steve’s and she’s clapping, “What a show off!” she mocks.

The man takes off his helmet to reveal familiar golden locks, and he scoffs, “You good, King?”

An exact echo of before.

What the fuck.

Heather climbs in behind Billy and coughs, “Why the fuck are you smoking beneath the helmet? Can you even see?”

Billy plucks the cigar out from between his lips and laughs out a crowd of smoke, “Don’t need to. Streets are empty anyways.”

It’s so clear in the way Heather wraps her arms around Billy’s waist, how comfortable they are with each other. The way he looks back at her to make sure she’s holding on and she’s safe, the fact that he leans into her touch a little and smiles in a way different to its usual charm while she coughs.

“Okay,” she wheezes, and it’s clearly an exaggeration, “I’m gonna die today. Apparently. Billy, this is Steve. I’m sure you two have met before, but, yeah, Steve helped walk me here.”

“That so?” Billy eyes Steve like he’s some kind of fucking _thing,_ a clear fire in his eyes that regards Steve so indifferently it makes him shift in his spot, wanting to get away as soon as possible. He bites his tongue, afraid to make any witty comment.

Billy opens his mouth while looking at Steve, and Steve’s hilariously convinced that Billy’s just gonna casually out him right here for being bi. Right in front of Heather.

But instead, Billy’s tongue darts out to run along his teeth, and he nods, “Thanks, Harrington. I owe ya one. Stay safe.”

It’s restrained, it’s clearly not something Hargrove’s quite used to saying, but it touches Steve nonetheless and when he looks at Heather, she’s smiling teasingly too.

“Oh!” She suddenly remembers, and she grins wide, “Robin’s got a collection of My Little Pony posters set up in her room, _and_ she’s got a huge fear of energetic dogs. Do with it as you will, sire.”

Then Billy puts his cig back in his mouth amused and puts on his helmet, revving his engine. He gives one last nod to Steve and Heather yells out a _bye_ as Hargrove just… fucking _zooms_ off.

That’s. Honestly the best way to put it. _Zoom._

Also, would it be strange to say that Hargrove looked and acted a little hot? Like, kind of charming in a wrongfully right way?

Oh _fuck._

Steve snaps himself out of it, looks around to realize he’s got quite a ways to go to get back to his actual fucking car.

_Shit._

Well, here’s to making new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is nancywrote
> 
> i hope it's coming along so far! i'm rather happy with the results, and my fingers are itching to get back to writing, but i'm not planning on keeping to a particular schedule right now so i'll list it with just one chapter until i open it up for more! this is, essentially, a pilot lmao
> 
> a lot's set up here, i think, so thank you for reading and i hope you enjoyed!!


	2. Involved

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve's getting too involved. Nancy and Jonathan like crime. Billy likes danger.

Nancy’s a fan of crime stuff.

She likes talking about the news, sharing with Jonathan and Steve the latest gossip or crimes, sometimes her and Jonathan try to link it back to other incidents, they like theorizing together. It’s all for fun of course, they never take it seriously, but it’s also a little concerning how official and experienced they sound when they start the theories.

Today, like usual, Nancy’s off about some big hit on every news channel. Usually, Steve listens, but he’s a little out of it right now and Jonathan’s bouncing off her anyways.

It’s just. Hargrove  _ still  _ hasn’t given him a task, or  _ anything. _

It’s basically been almost a full week since his encounter with him at the shady street, and Tommy’s been nothing short of jumpy. He’s been paler, he’s been losing sleep, and it’s really starting to stress Steve out himself.

He cares, okay? It’s not like his care for Tommy completely shattered in one day. Tommy was and still is a boy, he’s naive and doesn’t deserve to be put in the scopes of whatever the fuck Billy’s doing. Tommy deserves  _ safety  _ and happiness, blind to the other side of the world. Not whatever the fuck’s happening.

“Oh! And, it was in an alley on Crowns Street, in the city, and--”

_ “Crowns Street?”  _ Steve cuts her off. He didn’t mean to, he just tuned back in and.. well. That’s a real familiar name, and he’s almost certain it was the shady street he was at last week.

“Yeah,” Nancy smiles. Jonathan raises a brow curiously, always so observant.

“What happened there?”

Stupid question, honestly, he kicks himself for it but Nancy just lights up with laughter. So friendly and understanding.

“Some guy’s body was found last night, it’s said he’s probably been dead since last week. Weird, right? Stabbed, broken jaw, all that. He was wearing a suit but the media keeps calling him  _ homeless.” _

Last week.

Steve hasn’t left his house in awhile, only to go to school and straight back home. His mom and dad had a sudden return right after his trip to the bar at Crowns, and without context were up all night checking all the electronics for whatever reason. Probably distrust of him.

Still, their return left a bit of strain on his usual activities, because now he’s gotta hang out with his mom again (and she still doesn’t understand his problems, so he’s stopped talking to her about it) and he’s gotta help prepare dinner and clean the house at night. Honestly, the chores were the least of his concerns, it was just the fact that he couldn’t leave the house without them knowing.

He’s kind of hoping last week means, sometime after he left the street, and not  _ during or before.  _ Because. Well. That’s fucking  _ scary. _

“Okay, that  _ is  _ weird. And they didn’t find his body until today?”

Jonathan butts in finally, happy to indulge in his girlfriend’s interests but clearly jittery about the content, “Well -- last night. They found it last night. Nobody really goes down that street, it’s always empty.”

Cool.

Well, Steve’s a real qualified idiot then.

“Heather works there,” Steve says.

Nancy’s brow quirks in questioning, and Jonathan grins a little suggestively. Oh, the  _ fuckers. _

Quickly, Steve jumps to defend himself. “Heather’s Robin’s friend, not mine!”

A synchronized nod leaves the two and they continue walking through the hall, ignoring the other students.

Well, that’s the ideal situation.

But suddenly, they turn a corner and Tommy’s  _ right there  _ across the hall right against Carol’s locker looking real angry and red-faced.

And, well, Steve can’t ignore that. So he pats Nancy, nods a goodbye to Jonathan who regards him with genuine  _ concern  _ as he approaches Tommy and Carol.

“I’m fine!” Tommy whisper-yells, arms raised.

“No, you’re not!” Carol whisper-yells back, just as flamboyant with her arms.

“What’s going on?” Steve cuts in, making sure he’s close enough that others won’t hear. Tommy looks at Steve with surprise and Carol just turns to him with tears in her eyes.

“Tell Tommy he needs to stop talking to Billy!” She points at Tommy accusingly.

Okay. Well. Not the situation he thought he’d end up in.

“This is bullshit. You don’t  _ understand, _ Carol, I can’t! And I don’t fucking want to!” Tommy grits.

“Shit -- okay, calm down,” Steve hushes Tommy, looking between the couple nervously, “maybe we should keep it down? What happened?”

“Billy’s come out as a fuck up, is what’s happened!” Carol shouts despite Steve’s warning, tear-stricken and driven with anger. All heads turn, but thankfully, nobody Steve can see will tell Billy anything anyways. Cautiously, he smiles at the other students before looking back at Carol stern.

She of course, looks embarrassed.

Jesus.

Things really are falling apart, and Steve’s getting way more involved than he’d like.

“Carol, I’m sorry --” “Fuck you.” She swats Tommy’s hand away and runs off.

And now Tommy’s looking disheartened, full of regret and  _ shame.  _ Awkwardly, Steve clears his throat and leans against the locker. “So…” he quirks a brow.

Tommy finally looks at Steve, huffs, and leans against the locker too, crossing his arms. “I’ll text her.”

“Okay, that’s not my main concern, smartass. She has friends. What happened?”

“Uh…” and Tommy trails off like he can’t remember. And honestly, by the distant, empty look on his face, he probably doesn’t, until it’s like a light bulb went off above him and he focuses back on Steve. “She was over last night, and, uh… saw stuff.”

“Stuff?” Fuck.

Tommy just stiffens, nods and mumbles a  _ yeah. _

Honestly? It kind of hurts. That Tommy’s lying.

That Tommy’s been reduced from such an asshole to somebody shut down so much (Steve’s seen everybody tell him to shut up, even Billy) that experienced so much bullshit that he’s willing to talk to anybody and stop insulting them for the sake of them just staying.

That Tommy’s seen so much shit, been involved in such fucked up shit as expected of somebody close to the popular kid, that he’s unable to eat or act like he usually does or, hell, even show much care for his own life at this point. It fucking hurts Steve, to see his former best friend broken so easily.

He’s got a feeling there’s so much more that he doesn’t know about.

“You free after school?” Steve finds himself asking without thinking.

“Huh?” Tommy looks up, eyes wide and mouth parted. It looks like surprise and  _ hope. _

Steve just smiles as friendly as he can, even if it’s forced right now, he knows how to smile. And Tommy sees it, smiles back but so much weaker. But it’s so  _ joyful and relieved. _ “Yeah, uh, I’m free.”

“Cool, let’s like, hang out at mine? My parents are back, but we could probably get away with watching movies or messing with the kitchen.”

“Shit. Mom and dad, huh. I’m down -- just don’t expect me to not hog dad’s robe again.”

Steve can’t help the laugh that’s thrown out of him, because he  _ remembers it.  _ And Tommy was like, so young, didn’t fit into the robe at all and ran from his mom around the long halls for like,  _ ever.  _ And Carol was in the background with Steve’s dad’s old glasses on bumping into things and giggling.

_ “Jesus,  _ let’s hope dad doesn’t shout his lungs out,” Steve grins.

Tommy laughs at that, a lot more strong this time, eyes crinkling in such a genuine way and honestly, Steve almost misses it. It’s a relief. He remembers when him and Tommy basically shared parents. Didn’t say  _ my dad  _ or  _ my mom,  _ just dad and mom.

Then Steve opens his eyes, not realizing they were closed while laughing, to find a dominating presence right behind Tommy, overshadowing him. And Tommy seems to feel it, with the way his smile drops and he goes all pale again.

“Hagan,” Billy scowls. He looks stressed. There’s a noticeable cut across his cheek, and his eyes are red and his lips are held in a thin line. He looks like he just fucking cried, honestly. Which is a  _ very  _ weird thing to say about Billy Hargrove.

Tommy turns, stiff as a board, “Yeah.”

“I’m gonna need you after school.”

And all the blood drains from Tommy’s face. A mixture of emotions fill his eyes, and what stands out the most to Steve is the way his eyes gloss over with inevitable tears of anguish.

Fuck, that hurts him  _ even more. _

And Steve  _ really  _ doesn’t want Tommy to be hurt anymore, he really wants Tommy safe and he literally  _ just  _ went out of his way to make Tommy feel okay again after school. He isn’t gonna let that opportunity slip.

“Actually, Tommy and I are hanging out after school,” Steve butts in, steps closer so that he’s more in Tommy’s space than Billy is. Just so Tommy feels  _ safe. _

Clearly, Hargrove doesn’t like it. His expression turns from offended shock to actual  _ rage. _

“Gonna have to cut those plans short, pretty boy,” Hargrove snaps.

“Don’t think I will, actually.”

“You realize what you just did?”

And with the way Hargrove’s voice reached a deep, guttural level of low, Steve can only realize how badly he fucked up. Billy has  _ shit on him, Steve  _ has  _ nothing  _ on  _ Billy. _

Doesn’t matter though. Because this is Tommy who’s on the line, Steve’s best friend. Even if his own blood runs cold, even if a chill runs down his spine with how Hargrove’s glaring at him with  _ warning.  _ If Steve were insane, he’d even say Hargrove’s going a little easy on him. Hargrove doesn’t usually warn  _ twice. _

Tommy’s weak voice comes in, “Steve --”

“I do, actually. You got a problem, tiger?” Steve immediately growls after hearing Tommy’s voice, and honestly he gets a little scared when Hargrove’s face turns from angry to interested in less than a second.

Oh boy.

“Okay,” Hargrove nods slowly, backs up to straighten himself. A grin worms its way onto his face, one that’s far too devious and mischievous for Steve to like.

And his tongue darts out to lick his bottom lip, and  _ Jesus since when did the air leave Steve’s lungs? _

Somehow, Hargrove looks taller than Steve. Even if he definitely  _ isn’t. _

“How about I take you instead, Harrington?”

And there’s some sort of  _ hungry  _ look in his eyes that has Steve’s heart pumping.

“Did you not hear me?” Steve breathes, “I’m with Tommy today.”

“After, then. I can wait.” And it comes out like a  _ purr,  _ and Steve doesn’t know how to think. Since when was Hargrove so… fucking smooth?

Tommy gets in front of Steve, “No, my mom can wait, don’t--”

“Since the King wants to be the center of attention, why not, Tommy? I won’t hurt him.”

Tommy’s clearly about to protest again, and Steve’s really honored by how defensive he’s getting, but he butts in. “I’ll go, it’s okay Tommy. I know what I’m getting into.”

He doesn’t, but the lie’s enough to soothe Tommy’s tense shoulders. Still, Tommy looks at Steve with such fear that it’s really scaring Steve himself.

“What time you done?” Hargrove asks, looking around.

Steve places his hand on Tommy’s shoulder reassuringly, “Tommy’s mom expects him back by six, usually. You still on?”

“Yeah, I’ll bite.”

They lock eyes for a moment, and there’s  _ something  _ in Hargrove’s eyes that Steve can’t discern. Something so off.

And then the bell rings.

Hargrove doesn’t even say bye, just walks away all nonchalant and shit. Before Steve can leave too, Tommy grabs his shirt.

“After school, your car?” Tommy asks.

Steve nods.

“I’ll… warn you about some stuff then.”

“Stuff?” Steve questions, but it’s too late because Tommy’s already disappearing around the corner to get to class. Well, shit.

He’s getting so fucking involved.

  
  


“Dude, he nearly fucking  _ killed me --”  _ Tommy stammers before breaking into laughter, rolling around on Steve’s bed clutching his stomach hysterically.

_ “Maybe,  _ you shouldn’t have called him Miss Harrington,” Steve offers, laughing despite it. He doesn’t mind at all, sitting at his desk stacking his school papers.

Tommy sits up and wipes a tear from the corner of his eye, smiling wide. “Not my fault he’s got longer hair than you.”

Smugly, Steve runs his fingers through his own hair. Carding through the soft locks and thriving in how better maintained they are than his father’s. “If I didn’t hold dad back, I swear, oh my god. You’d be dead.”

A snort leaves Tommy and he nods in agreement, “Fuckin’ totally.”

The day was going awesome so far, Steve and Tommy ran around the house trying to find old pictures of them (only to realize Steve’s dad had them), then they hogged a bunch of the snacks and blasted rap music to piss off Steve’s dad. Not loud enough to bother his mom, though. Hopefully.

And now they’re in Steve’s room, grinning like idiots and joking like they used to. It’s a relief to Steve, really. Because Tommy deserves to feel okay.

“Hey,” Tommy says, laying on his stomach to get closer to Steve at the end of the bed. Steve raises a brow. “Thanks.”

It comes out sort of mumbled, and Steve can see the red dusting Tommy’s cheeks and he smiles, “Anytime, man. How was the food?” He knows that Tommy’s been paler, either from lack of sleep, food, or both.

“You mean the snacks?” Tommy snorts, “Yeah -- was awesome, dude. I love that you can afford all this shit, I haven’t been able to eat for like,  _ ever  _ now.”

_ What? _

“You haven’t been eating?” It  _ was  _ a suspicion, but hearing it  _ now  _ kind of sends genuine fear for Tommy’s wellbeing running through Steve’s chest.

“Oh- um, well, not ‘cause I can’t afford it--” Tommy laughs, “No- no, nah. I’m fine. Just -- like, uh, Billy’s -- I mean, fuck…”

Immediately Tommy’s gone paler and Steve can see how lost he looks. “Tommy…” Steve sighs, sadly.

“Listen, okay? I didn’t know what I was getting myself into. I really didn’t. But it’s -- it’s fucked up, Steve. And I can’t get out now.”

“I can help you,” Steve supplies.

He definitely can’t.

“You definitely can’t.” Hearing it from Tommy’s mouth stings more. “Sorry, I just... mom’s missing me. I keep coming home late, leaving early, I’m fucking scared of lettin’ her down but I need the money too.”

“Can’t get a normal job?”

“If I do, that counts as leaving. I’m not allowed to leave.”

Silence.

Tommy continues, disheartened, “Look, I’ll text Carol, okay? And.. I’ll try to eat more. But you have to be careful with Hargrove. Practice caution and all that shit. It’s all risky business and you’re getting way too involved.”

Yeah. Steve’s  _ really  _ involved. It’s not good.

“I just.. care about you, man, I hate seeing you so fucked up,” Steve admits.

Tommy seems to soften at that, before looking at the clock and jumping up, “Crap, I gotta go. Billy’s gonna pick you up a few blocks down the road, by the tree we climbed. I asked him to, since your parents are home and all.”

Strangely nice.

“Okay. It was nice seeing you again, Tommy,” Steve smiles genuinely and fist bumps his ex-best friend.

“You too, Steve. Be careful. I’ll text you, if I can.”

And then Tommy grabs his bag and runs out, and Steve can hear his steps falter down the stairs a little and he laughs silently to himself.

Fuck.

He kind of sits there for a bit, leaning back against his wooden chair calmly and trying not to overwhelm himself with thoughts. Like  _ I have to help Tommy, I have to tell Nancy,  _ and  _ what does Billy have planned? _

The questions and demands all prick at him in different ways, then his phone vibrates behind him and he picks it up to find a text from his dad.

_ Dinner’s ready. _

His dad never really cared. Always travelled with his mom and guilt tripped Steve into telling him about his life. Steve’s pretty sure his dad heard everything he told his mom, and that’s why his dad was so keen on Steve staying home on the nights he’d usually go out to parties, bars, or clubs.

But his dad was never a real dad. Just some echo of what should be. He provides for Steve financially, then forces him to get a job. He covered his ass in middle school for being a troublemaker, then didn’t even tell him what he did wrong or attempt to talk it through. It was always just his mom who tried, but his mom is just..  _ annoying.  _ Self centered, uses an obscene amount of perfume and makeup, but sung him to sleep every night when she was crying because she had to leave again.

His dad never showed care, just financial security. His mom was selfish, but she still cared about family.

When he looks up, the window’s right there.

They always tell him to stay in, never go out. They monitored him so closely back then, he nearly got caught when he snuck out for a party and even if they only  _ suspected  _ it they still yelled at him. They still accused him of drugs, alcohol, all that shit.

But they’re not in control of his decisions.

So he gets up from the chair and throws on his jean jacket, puts his glasses on and gets into his shoes while pocketing his phone. It just. Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter anymore. Billy’s not gonna take Tommy, and Steve’s not gonna take his parent’s shit. He lives by his own rules.

From his room, he can hear his mom walking by his door to get to the stairs and her footsteps come to a stop. “Steve?” She yells weakly, “You coming down, sweetie?”

There’s a hat that he never usually uses, it’s a hat that makes him feel safe from those eyes that have felt far too closer than usual. He grabs it, twirls it and firmly tames his messy hair by placing the cap over it.

“Yeah,” he shouts back while unlatching his window, “I’ll be down in a sec.”

Her footsteps taper off and he wedges his fingers in the window gap before raising it, already pulling one of his legs through as quickly and quietly as possible.

Once he’s got both his legs through, he balances himself on the windowsill and closes the window fully. And then, he hops onto the thick tree nearby and carefully climbs down it. He can feel his phone bump around in his pocket with the wind swaying his jacket.

His feet land on the grass firmly and he dusts his hands, “Okay, Steve,” he mutters to himself, “You can do this.”

Quickly, he starts walking anxiously to where the meet up should be. A few minutes away, by him and Tommy’s carving tree.

When he gets there, Hargrove’s already waiting in a different car to the Camaro blasting music.

“Took you long enough,” Hargrove scoffs while Steve gets in. Not even enough time to admire the tree.

Steve doesn’t respond, just buckles his seatbelt and closes his eyes. It’ll be over soon.

He’s getting  _ way  _ too involved.

“So, what’s happening?” Steve asks loudly over the music.

Generously, Hargrove turns down the radio, “You’ll see,” is his answer.

“Okay. Shitty answer. I wanna know what I’m getting myself into.”

“Jesus, you’re fuckin’ needy, princess.”

And for whatever reason, Steve feels a bit fluttery. Angrily so.

“Could you  _ not  _ call me  _ princess?”  _ Steve snaps.

“What,” Hargrove side-eyes him with a smirk, “don’t like the name,  _ bambi?” _ He purrs.

“I don’t, actually. Why do you even do it? It’s annoying.”

And Hargrove looks genuinely offended by this, by the way his smirk drops and he focuses on the road again as he drives, “Don’t want me to call you that shit anymore then? Want me to call you  _ Steve?” _

And somehow, that’s worse. Just doesn’t  _ fit.  _ It’s just. Off.

“You know what?” Steve breathes, “Just -- whatever. Call me whatever you want.”

“Oh, it’s fine,  _ Steve.” _

“Jesus, just fucking stick to the pet names.”

“Thought you didn’t like them? I don’t mind callin’ you  _ Steve.” _

It’s starting to get annoying, hearing Hargrove repeat  _ over  _ and  _ over ‘Steve’. _

“Stop! Okay? Just fucking -- call me princess or some shit. You have my  _ full permission. _ I don’t mind!” Steve yells, laughing hysterically in stress.

And Hargrove grins, lets his eyes roll over to Steve with a raised brow.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, and looks away with pink cheeks.

Way to go, just had an outburst in front of  _ Billy fucking Hargrove. _

“You know, you’re real cute when you’re angry,” Hargrove points out.

“Excuse me?”

Hargrove just shrugs, hands still on the wheel and eyes still on the road, “I can see why Heather likes you.”

“I never got angry at her.”

“Never  _ said  _ you  _ did,  _ just said I can  _ see  _ why she likes you.”

Steve scoffs, and crosses his arms. He’s getting far angrier than he should.

And Hargrove, the shithead, smiles with those pearly whites in a weirdly charming way that totally shouldn’t be legal with how fucking  _ lethal  _ and  _ dirty  _ it is. “Harringtooon…” he drawls teasingly.

Steve ignores, and pointedly looks away.

“Look at me, princess.”

Silence. And then, in a deep, sultry voice...

“Let me see those  _ pretty doe eyes, _ bambi.”

He doesn’t know  _ how,  _ or  _ why,  _ but it’s probably anger, right? Just anger.

But after Hargrove’s  _ persisting,  _ Steve grumpily looks to his side at Hargrove with his arms still crossed and a full on pout going on.

“Aw,” Hargrove grins, “you like being called  _ bambi?” _

“No, I don’t.”

“No need to be a little bitch about it.” And his little charming facade has completely faded, replaced with typical  _ Hargrove  _ attitude.

So Steve, even more outraged by this, sticks his tongue out at Hargrove then looks away again.

_ “Steve,”  _ Hargrove growls.

“Why do you want me to look so bad? Shouldn’t you focus on the fucking road?”

It’s quiet for a moment, then they come to a red light and Hargrove leans back,  _ “Now  _ look at me.”

“Why?”

“Don’t need to say shit. Just stop being so stubborn.”

_ Stubborn? _

Oh, now Steve  _ definitely  _ isn’t doing it.

“Steeeve,” Hargrove drags out, almost a whine.

“Nope,” Steve looks even more further off.

Then it’s silence again, and Steve can  _ hear  _ the gears turning in Hargrove’s head.

And then, in a far too low and gravelly voice, Hargrove says, “I’ll kiss ya.”

_ “What?”  _ Steve whips his head around with wide eyes right as a green light comes on, and he feels himself flushing even more when Hargrove’s not even looking at him now but has the biggest grin on his face.

Steve starts, groaning,  _ “No,  _ shut up --” “-- Oooh, who’da thunk that the King himself would want a kiss from --” “-- Shut up!”

Hargrove just bursts into laughter while driving, barking with amusement while Steve’s completely fucking red-faced and teary-eyed. It’s just, really embarrassing. And  _ stupid and childish. _

“That’s not what I…” Steve whines.

“Aww, don’t worry, baby, I was kidding,” Hargrove reassures once he’s calmed down, licking his lips without thinking.

_ Jesus. _

Just.  _ Why?  _ Steve didn’t invite his  _ bi heart  _ to the fucking party. It’s just him being bi, that’s it. That’s all. No, actually, there’s  _ nothing  _ for Hargrove here. Nothing at all.

They’re going around a familiar corner, the one Steve took when he was running from those kids and suddenly he feels his blood run cold.  _ A murder was here. _

“Uh, Billy…”

The name slips without thinking, but Hargrove doesn’t seem to mind, even if his eyes shift over to Steve for a split second, “What?”

“Somebody  _ died  _ here.”

“People die everywhere.”

_ That  _ does  _ not  _ calm Steve down at  _ all. _

It seems Hargrove notices his distress as he drives and he turns the radio down even more. “It’s fine,” Hargrove shrugs, “I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

And. Well. That’s strangely  _ sweet. _

“You got epilepsy?” Hargrove asks suddenly. It’s far too quiet in the car without the music full blast.

“Nope.”

“Anything I should be concerned about?”

“Not that I’m aware of.”

Hargrove nods and then drives into a mostly-filled parking lot near an apartment. It’s not a familiar part of the street to Steve.

He stops the car and opens his door, getting out. Steve follows suit.

“We’re picking up Heather first,” Hargrove states while locking the car.

Steve  _ lights up,  _ because it’s somebody he actually enjoys being around.

Well, he doesn’t mind either way. Hargrove’s not  _ the worst… _

Fuck.

Oh, and, Hargrove looks at his lips and smiles a little for just a second. And that makes Steve just smile a little wider for whatever reason. He places his palm on his chest to breathe.

“You good?” Hargrove chuckles and brings out a box of cigarettes, plucking a cig out and placing it between his lips.

“Yeah, I’m good.” Steve just watches Hargrove bring the lighter to his face and finds himself almost enchanted by how the dirty blonde just _ snaps  _ the lighter closed after he’s done.

“Well, let’s head, then,” Hargrove mutters around the cig.

They start walking down the empty sidewalk, and just like last time, the whole  _ street  _ is vacant. No cars, nothing. There was an empty parking lot that they passed a couple of minutes ago, but Steve assumes that parking in a more crowded lot provides much better security. Billy must have  _ experience. _

“So, you come here often?” Steve finds himself asking.

Billy nods, he’s so close their shoulders are practically touching but that just makes the street feel less  _ dangerous  _ to Steve. Because, well, he’s probably got Billy on his side. And Billy’s a real good protector.

“Only for business, I used to live in the same apartment complex as Heather, ‘til I got snitched on by a buddy and me and my dad had to move out.”

“Snitched by a buddy?” It’s a little off, because Steve was under the assumption Billy didn’t really  _ have  _ buddies, nor would anyone  _ ever  _ think to rat him out. And, well, for  _ what? _

“Yeah. Wasn’t actually me, was my dad’s fault. Still, we didn’t want any more trouble with the police again --  _ he  _ didn’t want any more trouble.”

That’s.. insightful. A lot more information than Steve was admitting to expecting.

And Steve feels the eyes, faintly, and he swallows down his fear. “Billy?” he weakly asks.

Billy looks at him, eyes as attentive as ever, smoke coming from his lips.

“Did you  _ want  _ to do.. whatever you’re doing?”

Then Billy scoffs, shrugs and blows out another puff of smoke. The bar is right there. “Nope.”

And that’s all he says.

Heather runs down the steps from the front door of the bar and squeals, meeting Billy and Steve halfway. “Steve!” She gasps happily.

“Hi,” he responds awkwardly. Billy snorts besides him.

“I thought Tommy would be here?” She looks to Billy, and Steve immediately fills with nervousness. Like maybe now that Billy’s been reminded, he’ll start yelling at Steve more or say something real fucking passive aggressive about Steve to answer the question. Just flat out  _ embarrass  _ him.

“Tommy had a good run, but he needs to rest. Steve’s his run-in. I find I like him much more than Tommy.”

“Okay, mean,” Steve mutters, but he can’t help the relief that floods him at the lack of insult.

Heather giggles and lightly slaps Billy’s shoulder, and Billy just laughs playfully.

Honestly? That weird little pang in Steve’s chest? Didn’t help.

“Cool, well, where are we going?” Steve interrupts their laughing a little too aggressively, and Billy’s eyes  _ snap  _ to him so indifferently it scares him. But it lights some sort of teasing flame in his core. Sends something up his spine.

Billy and Heather share a look, and then Heather looks at Steve, “You like strip clubs?”

Oh,  _ does  _ he.

And within a blink, he’s now squeezing through a crowd of horny and drunk men sticking close to Billy and Heather with overwhelming music and neon lights practically  _ blinding  _ him.

A familiar old man that Steve’s tried pursuing once in hope of drinks approaches, grabs Steve’s arm in the crowd and slurs his words. Steve can only make out  _ slut  _ and it fucking  _ freaks him out. _

He tries to remove his arm, but he’s weak and this man’s a fucking  _ giant.  _ And  _ drunk. _

And when he looks around, Heather and Billy aren’t anywhere to be found and suddenly he’s wheezing and on the verge of tears and clawing at the man’s hand. “Let go, asshole!” He shouts, but it’s muffled by the music and the crowd roaring around him only push him closer to the old man.

At this point, he’s hyperventilating and fear’s completely overtaken him. “Shuddup…” the man growls so close to his ear and tugs Steve in  _ closer, _ and he’s  _ so close _ to breaking down because the only familiar people he knows are  _ gone  _ and  _ left him  _ and this old man’s  _ giant  _ and Steve’s  _ weak  _ and  _ tired and hungry and-- _

_ A hand firmly grasps his wrist and steps between him and the man. _

To his right, Heather’s trying to push through the crowd but old men are talking to her and she’s trying to be as polite as possible.

And Billy’s  _ right there.  _ Right between him and the old man, holding his wrist.

The song’s loud, but his heartbeat’s so much louder.

Billy doesn’t even say anything, just punches the man right in the fucking noggin and the moment Steve’s arm is wrenched free from the old man, Billy grabs his hand and runs.

It’s knocking the breath out of him and it catches him so off guard that tears actually  _ do  _ fall. Not a lot, but they do, and that’s enough to get his blood pumping again and he runs too.

They run through the crowd and before Steve knows it, Heather is right by them ushering them into some room at the back. The song muffles when the door closes behind her, and it looks like some sort of fancy lounge room.

Billy’s  _ super  _ fucking angry, “Fuckin’ old men,” he hisses, pushes Steve down on the couch a little harshly and starts pacing around wildly. “Touchy little shits, past their expiry date lookin’ asses, I should’ve fucking  _ killed  _ him --”

“Billy, calm down,” Heather says as she sits near Steve, “Oh my God, are you okay?”

He’s confused at first, really doesn’t know what she’s talking about. Then something wet drips down his neck and he realizes he’s still crying.

And that. Nearly makes him sob. So he stammers, then bites his bottom lip and tries to squeeze his eyes. Juice all of what’s left of his tears. “I’m fine,” he says, but his voice is dry. And the tears  _ don’t stop. _

He hears Billy slow to a stop, and then when he opens his eyes again Billy’s kneeling in front of him looking  _ genuinely pissed and surprised, “Shit,  _ princess…”

That. Fucks him up.

The concern, the stress of everything, Heather’s comforting presence right next to him with her arm draped along his spine so carefully, the fact that Billy  _ didn’t want this  _ and he actually has some sort of fucking  _ care  _ in him. It’s all so  _ much.  _ He’s getting  _ too involved. _

_ He can only imagine how Tommy was on his first day of all this. _

And so, despite everything, despite his determination to stay resilient throughout this and not bare himself to Billy, he breaks down crying.

Heather stays there, rubbing his back with her thumb and using her free hand to rub his shoulder. He just  _ sobs,  _ sits there and fucking  _ cries  _ like a pansy with his face buried in his hands and Billy’s  _ right in front of him  _ and he’s already in too deep.

Jesus, and Billy’s hand reaches out and stays on Steve’s knees. Nervously. Carefully.

Heather’s experienced, Billy. Billy  _ isn’t.  _ Not at all. It’s all new to him, too. Comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Steve croaks wetly behind his hands and sniffles. Heather hugs his side and takes off his hat to reassuringly brush his hair.

“It’s okay,” she says. And Billy’s still silent.

Steve can hear shuffling and he assumes it’s Billy getting up to walk off somewhere. It kind of stings weirdly, but he shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

After a minute or two of just hiccups and quiet crying, Steve starts to calm down and Heather puts a box of tissues on his lap. Shamefully, he removes his hands and plucks out some tissue to clean his face and hands with. The bin’s not too far, it’s just by the side of the couch, conveniently, and he just tosses the used tissue in there.

“Thanks,” he mutters tired. He puts his hat back on.

Heather just puts the tissues back on the table and brings Steve back into a side-hug. “It’s okay.”

“He’s supposed to be here by now,” Billy says suddenly, off standing in the corner looking away.

“Who?” Steve asks.

But, of course, it goes unheard because the door bursts open and the music shines in before immediately muffling again with the shut of the door. A man walks in, definitely older than everyone else in the room, wearing a white suit with glasses perched on his nose.

And Steve realizes, like an idiot, he smudged his own glasses while crying.

Swiftly, while the man with a big smile is greeting Billy (to no response), Steve grabs a piece of tissue and takes his glasses off to clean them.

“Silent as usual,” the rich-smelling man laughs, “what training you had, huh?”

It’s. A sensitive topic. Clear by how Billy seems to  _ growl,  _ “Better talker than you, asshole. Where’s the deal?”

“Big mouth at the same time,” the man’s smile drops to a frown and Steve honestly feels about ready to pounce. It’s weird, this guy’s just.. smelly.

Not  _ awful,  _ it’s just too much  _ smell.  _ It’s too  _ rich.  _ It reminds him of his dad.

“I’ll give you the papers soon. Tell me, who’s this pretty lady here?”

Billy’s brows furrow, “You know her.”

“No, I’m talking about the one next to her. All red-faced with the glasses.”

And the moment Steve’s put his glasses back on, he wants to take them off right then and punch this guy. And Billy looks like he’s thinking the same thing.

_ “He’s  _ none of your business,” Billy snaps and leaves the corner to slowly inch in front of Steve, block him from the man.

_ “He’s  _ cute.”

Heather tightens her arms around Steve protectively. He feels weird, off. Being talked about like he’s not in the room. Thank God Heather’s here.

“Fuck off,” Steve hisses without thinking. Billy looks back at him with something in his eyes.

The man whistles, “Got a mouth, too. I’ve seen him around this club, flirting with the bouncer and hitting on some of my best men. Thought he’d be a little more  _ charming.” _

Billy hardens, his nostrils flare and Steve just reddens even more in shame. Heather scowls.

“Do you have the  _ papers?”  _ Billy widens his stance to look a bit more powerful, but he’s clearly in a fighting stance. His fists are clenched.

The white-suited bastard nods and moves to one of the tables, pulls out a drawer to grab some folder and holds it out to Billy. Billy snatches it without question, and much to Steve’s chagrin, doesn’t even  _ look  _ at the papers.

Steve doesn’t know what’s in it, but he’s pretty sure with a man as cocky as this, Billy should be  _ smart. _

Billy doesn’t say much else though, just pulls Steve up by the arm and opens the door.

“Leaving so soon?” The man says, bringing his phone out nonchalantly despite the invitation that they could stay a little bit longer.

Billy doesn’t respond, and neither does Heather as she sandwiches Steve between her and Billy when they walk out the door.

“I hate that asshole,” she mutters angrily with one hand on Steve’s back. The song’s back, but it’s more seductive and low. Less aggressive and loud. Billy doesn’t say anything, still, keeps his hand wrapped around Steve’s arm as he drags him through the crowd again. This time, he’s real close and he even  _ pushes  _ people aside to clear a way for the two.

They’re too drunk to care, anyways. That’s what Steve’s hoping.

Finally, they push through and manage to get outside. The area they’re in, Steve notices, is an area he’s actually only ever been to twice. He didn’t realize it was connected to Crowns. That man was definitely stretching the truth, bullshitting to get Billy angry or something.

Though he’s not sure  _ why  _ that would make Billy angry.

“Billy?” Heather’s concerned too, it seems. Billy’s let go of Steve’s arm now and he’s just stomping ahead of them.

Heather and Steve share a look then they run to catch up to his pace. “Billy,” Heather repeats. “Biiilly.”

“Billy,” Steve tries.

And Billy stops abruptly, looks at the both of them irritated as hell. “What?” He says.

Okay. Well. It worked.

Heather raises a brow with a small smile, “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he grits.

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Steve mutters and Billy looks at him all  _ weird. _

And then Billy’s eyes travel behind Steve and widen with a groaned  _ “Shit.” _

Heather looks too then jumps, gets into some sort of fighting stance. She’s ready, and she pulls out some fucking  _ brass knuckles and pepper spray from her pockets.  _ What the fuck.

“Look out!” Billy shouts before Steve gets the chance to look behind him, shoving Steve aside right as somebody’s fist came swinging across, just barely grazing his hair.

“What the fuck!” Steve breathes, and he finds his eyes traveling to a man in a short-sleeved leather jacket and..

_ Oh. _

_ It’s the fucking biker gang. _

“Boss said you’d be here,” the guy spits and more start coming in behind him. They’re  _ outnumbered. And that  _ asshole  _ from earlier called them over, it looks like. _

Billy pulls Steve up by the hand and pushes him into Heather,  _ “Go,”  _ he orders. Heather shoves her shit in her pocket again in a rush.

“Wait, what? No fucking --” then Heather’s grabbing Steve by the collar and running away with a surprisingly strong pull.

Still, Steve protests and shouts because  _ Billy is young,  _ he’s strong but he’s not  _ that strong. _

“High risk, high reward, bitches!” He hears Billy cheer-scream from afar and it sounds like him when he’s partying.

And Steve doesn’t like that.

It’s like pep-talk.

And also, he thinks saw a glimpse of a man in an alley looking straight at him.

So.

He definitely  _ is  _ running with Heather now, straight to the parking lot where Billy’s car would be.

It’s there, it’s  _ so fucking there,  _ but the keys are so fucking not. So they come to an abrupt halt right by the doors and Heather swears, “Fuck! That idiot.”

“You really listened to him easy,” Steve takes a breath. The wind was filling his lungs. This is also a reminder that Billy’s using a more  _ modern  _ car. A different one. “Is this his?” Steve asks while his adrenaline’s starting to leave him. He’s trying really hard not to think too hard about Billy. It’s not easy.

Heather shakes her head, takes a nice swig of air before speaking, “It’s -- his dad’s,” she breathes. She seems a bit out of practice with running and all that.

“Huh.”

And the silence leads him into fear.

The  _ guy. _

And.. and the  _ white-suited man. _

And  _ Billy. _

“We have to go, go get him --” Steve stutters after a solid minute of panicking, already starting to walk back before Heather places her palm on his chest to stop him. “No, we can’t,” she says.

“Why?” It comes out so desperate.

“It’s dangerous,” she smiles. “He’s used to it.”

That’s wrong.

“That’s not right. That’s  _ fucked up,  _ he shouldn’t be used to it. He shouldn’t be used to -- this!” Steve finds himself taking a deep breath towards the end of the sentence, still feeling flush with exhaustion and adrenaline.

Heather just smiles, nods, “Yeah, it really  _ is  _ fucked up. You get used to it. He’ll be okay. You’ll risk your life if you go back.”

“High risk, high reward, right?” Steve echoes Billy’s words, taking one more step forward before Heather pushes him back.

“Don’t follow his rules.”

“I  _ have _ to. I’m on his list.”

“Don’t die to get out of it?” Heather raises a brow.

Steve groans, trying to push past her again. “No, Steve, you have to wait --”

“Get in the car!” Billy spits, storming in from the sidewalk and immediately unlocking the car. His jacket’s sliding off his shoulders, revealing some of his tattoo and cuts and bruises. Fresh ones. The folder’s gone.

Fuck.

Steve hesitates for a moment, looks at Billy approaching,  _ incredibly  _ relieved that he’s okay but nervous. A little scared. Kind of angry.

Heather gets into the driver’s seat without Billy asking, and once Billy’s close enough, he puts his hand on the small of Steve’s back, opens the doors and pushes him in the back seats. “Don’t fucking  _ hesitate,  _ Steve,” he growls and gets in besides Steve quickly, shutting the door.

Without asking, Heather is tossed the keys and she turns the engines on. Steve’s kind of  _ embarrassed  _ that he hesitated. Because now he just feels. Stupid.

She pulls out and Steve can hear guys around the corner. She doesn’t even think, she just drives as fast as possible and. Well.  _ Zooms  _ out.

Still the only word Steve can use.

Billy reaches across Steve when they’re on the road and Steve’s heart kind of pounds. Because Billy’s  _ so close  _ and his cuts are showing and he can smell Billy and oh  _ god. _

Then Billy pulls the seatbelt down and buckles Steve in scoffing.

Oh.

“Oops,” he chuckles. Billy side-eyes him as he buckles himself and Heather’s completely silent.

The radio’s still quiet, but Steve’s arm is practically pressed against Billy’s. It feels so close. Too close.

Without thinking, he raises his hand and brushes his fingers over Billy’s cuts. Billy looks at him, cautious and  _ glaring.  _ Steve doesn’t flinch.

He keeps grazing the delicate cuts, he can see Billy’s reactions. The way his jaw is clenched, how his nose flares anytime Steve’s fingers touch. But he’s  _ letting him do it. _

Even though he made Steve feel stupid, he’s being kind right now.

Steve kind of feels like a kid, but he keeps touching anyways. Using his thumb to wipe away some blood. “What’d they do?” he whispers, not wanting to disrupt Heather’s serious face.

“Cut me, punched me, tried to steal my jacket, turns out the folder was bullshit,” Billy speaks low, deep. It’s so intimate it hurts.

“And you?”

It’s quiet.

“Nearly let them.”

The confession hangs light yet heavy in the air. It’s a truth that’s.. just so  _ honest  _ it isn’t as filled with emotion anymore. It’s just the way it is. And that kind of hurts too.

Steve nods slowly, looks up at Billy to find him looking out the window distantly. Emptily.

The way Tommy looks a lot nowadays.

“You ever look at yourself, and wish you were someone else?” Steve asks gently, carefully. Still focusing on the cuts and gently wiping at the blood with his bare fingers.

Billy’s quiet. But he’s definitely listening.

So that’s a  _ yes. _

“I do too, sometimes,” Steve admits himself. It’s not always a big thing on his mind, wishing he was someone else. It was bigger when he was  _ King Steve.  _ Always the popular kid, throwing away real emotional connections to party and get drunk and get in trouble and do dumb shit. Then Nancy came along.

Even if she wasn’t  _ real,  _ it helped Steve. More than he’d like to admit.

“Why?” Billy asks, looking at him this time.

Steve stays quiet, doesn’t look back. He pinches Billy’s jacket with his fingers and tugs it up back over his shoulders as tenderly as possible, careful not to sting the wounds.

It does it anyways, Billy still hisses a little, but it’s better than letting the jacket hang.

“I like the jacket,” Steve says.

He doesn’t think that Billy should let the guys steal it.

And their foreheads are like, really close. Almost touching. Steve’s  _ so  _ tempted and he has no idea why.

“I like it too,” Billy says.

He looks back up, into those deep blue eyes.

“You should keep it,” he offers.

And Billy. Smiles. Not that charming, or teasing, or  _ anything. _

Just a smile.

“I think I might.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok i didn't expect to make a new chap this early i'll admit, but i had the free time and the inspo so i decided to! i hope it was good :D i'll open up the chapters now, so it's officially something i'll have to work on
> 
> tumblr is nancywrote!! thank you for reading and enjoying, leave a comment and if you'd like, i accept harringrove prompts (one-shots) over on my tumblr to help with practice! have a good day


	3. Eyes

“Did it go well?” Tommy asks, bumping shoulders with Steve in the halls.

“Did what go well?” Steve smiles, coming to a stop at his locker. It’s a combo lock, not like he has much good shit in it to begin with. So he just punches in the right moves, while Tommy continues.

“Like, Billy?”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve hums, absentmindedly.

“What happened?”

“Picked up Heather, met some guy.” He shoves his stuff in his locker dismissively.

“Some guy?”

“Yeah, was no biggie. Just some asshole in a white suit, I think.” Steve closes his locker, shrugging nonchalantly, “You eat this morning, Hagan?”

“Uh. Yeah, a little. Kind of stressed though.”

God  _ dammit. _

“Why?”

“I was scared somethin’ happened to you,” Tommy admits dumbfoundedly. 

“Well,” Steve shrugs again, and scans the halls for Nancy or Jonathan, “I’m safe. It’s okay, Tommy. I’ll  _ be  _ safe.”

“Steve..”

“I’ll make sure he’s safe,” Billy chimes in out of nowhere, behind Steve. Tommy visibly locks up, freezes in his place and looks at Steve with eyes the size of saucers.

Make sure he’s safe. That’s real cute.

Jesus, God save Steve, his heart’s still  _ pounding. _

“Hey Billy --” Steve turns, then finds Billy standing in a hoodie, jeans and  _ nothing else.  _ No leather jacket, no fancy hairdo,  _ nothing. _

_ Oh God,  _ and that natural hair? Looks fucking  _ sick.  _ And really pretty, and soft, and  _ jesus. _

It’s just being bi. That’s all.  _ Just Steve’s bi heart. _

“What happened to the..?” He clears his throat, trying to figure out how to word it without possibly making Billy uncomfortable or something. So far, he doesn’t  _ think  _ he’s put Billy off too much, but he doesn’t wanna take his chances.

Billy scoffs, looks off and oh  _ Gods  _ his lashes look longer and the light bounces off the red of his cheeks. He shrugs, “Got work after school. Didn’t wanna risk the jacket.”

Steve was nodding, but he had to quickly clamp his mouth shut after realizing it was open in awe. Fuck.

“Need company?” Steve asks stupidly, and he can  _ feel  _ the confusion radiating off Tommy behind him.

“Steve?” Nancy walks around Billy, looking at him warily. Her books are in her arms and she’s confused, brows tied in a knot.

Despite her sudden presence, Steve’s eyes are still on Billy’s and Billy just. Looks straight back.

Something’s in his eyes.

And the asshole runs his pink tongue over his lips, grins all toothy and drags his thumb across the soft expanse of his lips. And  _ jesus, _ Billy’s lips play like pillows. Look like they’d feel like  _ clouds. _

“Yeah,” Billy smiles, “See-ya later, pretty boy.” He turns and his legs make work, taking him away from Steve and far from Nancy and Tommy. Far from the prying eyes of  _ others. _

And he sways his hips as he strides.

Steve just watches, can’t peel his eyes away until Nancy’s right in front of him blocking his view and Tommy’s besides her, visibly confused. Both of them are, understandably, concerned.

“Why was Billy there?” Nancy asks first.

“Why did you  _ ask?”  _ Tommy hisses.

Steve giggles stupidly, “Uh, well -- firstly, Nance, I’m still under his power,”  _ in more than one way,  _ “and kind of am getting more involved than I thought I would. And Tommy,” he turns to Tommy, who regards him with such genuine concern he nearly laughs, “it’s better for you. He’ll pick on you less, and Carol will be happier. You’ll be safer.”

It’s not a complete lie.

He almost hates how it’s not the entire truth either though.

  
  


Of course, news spread. Nancy didn’t like it, Jonathan found out and. Well.

“I think it’s cool,” he shrugs, smiling at Steve in that weird nervous way he does, “I mean, Billy hasn’t done anything bad to you. Right?”

Steve’s arms jump up in agreement, “Yes! See? Thank you, Jonathan.”

“But, you know, be careful please,” Jonathan mumbles shyly.

Nancy huffs and crosses her arms. It’s clear she still won’t take it, and while Steve appreciates a good strong will, it gets tiring. “I just think, well,  _ everybody thinks  _ Billy’s bad. He  _ will  _ do something bad inevitably.”

“Okay, true. I’ll be careful,” Steve lets his arms drop to his sides, hooking his right thumb in his pocket. Just a weird habit he’s picked up over the years. For whatever reason, he finds himself often tugging at his jackets, wrapping them around himself no matter the weather, messing with the zippers or letting his thumb hang in the pockets. It’s never _ really _ gotten in his way.

“No!” Nancy groans, frustrated, “Steve, you have to  _ understand --” _

A familiar tuft of dirty blonde hair comes into view, right next to Steve. Nancy immediately shuts her mouth, clearly physically holding herself back from ripping into Billy right then as Jonathan wraps an arm around her reassuringly.

Whether Steve likes it or not though, Nancy’s not..  _ wrong.  _ Billy went from the talk of school to the murmured. Whispered. Rumored. From some party jock to some ghost that looms over people’s shoulders, and, well,  _ there’s a reason.  _ He messes with them for fun. He makes them ruin their own lives for fun. Steve doesn’t quite know how, but Billy does it. In  _ steps.  _ He knows what he’s doing, and he does it  _ well. _

And, maybe Steve’s part of that? There’s no saying he isn’t falling into some grand scheme right now. Tommy used to do a bit of acting when they were younger, who knows, maybe he’s getting some good pay? Or maybe, he’s  _ so  _ traumatized by whatever Billy’s done, he genuinely doesn’t want someone else to go down that hole.

Billy fucking gets  _ money  _ from students, makes deals with  _ strip club owners  _ and  _ apparently  _ it’s all family business.

But, Steve’s fucking  _ weak.  _ That’s what he knows, when Billy looks at him all expectant. When Billy’s got some hope banking on Steve, in place of Tommy. When Billy smiles at him, brushes their shoulders close, licks his lips, places his hand on Steve’s  _ knee. _

“Ready, bambi?” Billy speaks low, deep,  _ meaningful  _ with an unlit cig sandwiched between his lips.

When Billy calls him  _ names. _

Steve’s just weak. Completely at his mercy.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, and doesn’t have to look to know Nancy’s angry and Jonathan’s curious.

And Billy smiles, all shark-teeth and devious, promising of troubles and  _ danger signs  _ flashing in Steve’s vision. “You good to leave your car here for now?” Billy asks,  _ dangerously  _ close to Steve. The cigarette does nothing to filter his words, clear as the sun is bright.

Steve nods.

Billy takes the cig out of his lips, and his lips look like  _ pillows,  _ and his face morphs into something so much more daring. Tempting.  _ Warning. _

“Words, Stevie.”

When Billy wants to make sure Steve’s  _ okay  _ with this.

“Yeah, I’ll leave my car,” Steve whispers.

“Good boy,” Billy purrs, proud, and walks to his car. It’s the modern one. Black and silvery and shiny and well-maintained. You’d never think that Billy owned it, with the scratch much like a scar right on the driver’s door. Billy would never get caught dead with his Camaro damaged.

And Nancy looks at Steve one last time, a face telling him to  _ make a decision.  _ Choose. It  _ reminds  _ him. But.

“Seeya,” Steve mutters almost shamefully, watches Nancy’s face fall into  _ anger,  _ and then he runs off to go after Billy.

The moment he’s in the car, buckling his seat belts, Billy leans over and his lips are just barely brushing Steve’s ears. They’d be so soft, they’d meld against each crevice in or around his ear if they just  _ pressed. _

“It’s just us today,” is all Billy whispers teasingly, voice low and wet, breathing heat against Steve’s ears that make him go red.

And then Billy gets back in his seat, doesn’t even look back at Steve as he turns up the radio.

  
  


A troublemaker.

Bad, bad, wrong and dirty and oh so  _ criminal.  _ Would ask things like,  _ what’s the fun in playing safe?  _ and  _ don’t you wanna feel alive? _

If he needed an alibi, oh how the brunette would give himself over so quickly. Just without hesitation. Just for that little stupid bit of praise. It was different to the old drunk guys, to the ladies, it felt so  _ genuine.  _ And it was wrong, but it was raw, but it was so  _ wanting  _ in the way it was said.

Billy was criminal.  _ A  _ criminal. Illegal, dirty, bad, trouble, and  _ sinful. _

In all the right fucking ways.

And Steve never thought he’d be right by the dirty blonde’s side at some cafe, hitting on a guy near them to help Billy find out where his guy is. And he never thought, that he’d right after have Billy finally turn and whisper all husky in his ear,  _ “This was a waste of time. Let’s leave and have some fun of our own.” _

And now, they’re in an alley smoking.

Not exactly  _ fun,  _ not yet. They’re waiting for some of the biker guys to leave the bar near them. Steve doesn’t mind, the shade lets him get away with looking at Billy more.

The light shines on Billy’s features so well, warm yellow coating his cheeks and outlining his jawline. The smoke looks a bit yellow in this almost golden hour, as well, and it just makes Billy look...

Soft.

Not something Steve was expecting.

He was expecting, damn it all to  _ hell,  _ to think that Billy’s  _ hot,  _ or  _ irresistible,  _ which, he definitely is both, but. He’s so vulnerable here. Leaning on the wall across from Steve, eyes closed in thought with smoke coming out like clouds from his gently parted lips.

It’s quiet.

Save for some cars passing by, and people and kids joking around the corners walking by them without a care in the world.

And Steve can hear himself breathing, right alongside Billy’s.

And Billy’s  _ trouble,  _ sure, but he doesn’t want to be, does he?

“I wanna know you,” Steve hears himself ask. It’s out without him even intending for it to be, but then Billy’s eyes open and look into him. Strike him.

They’re blue, but it’s like there’s. Not fire. A sun, rising. Clouds. A whole  _ world  _ in those deep, blue eyes. Reflected from the sun outside. The most visible part in the alley. It’s beautiful, and alluring, makes Steve feel like a poet and an artist and a teenage girl all at once.

And Billy doesn’t answer, but Steve can hear it.

It’s different right now. It’s the city, but it feels like a town. It’s kind out there, with families and some people of the biker gang. Bars, but just one strip club that’s nowhere near them. It’s not neon, it’s not purple or anything.

It’s just golden.

Maybe Billy wanted to get out of the cafe, to get out of the  _ peace.  _ Maybe peace isn’t something.. familiar to Billy. Maybe there’s a fire raging, constantly in him. A war that’s been waging for years. Maybe being in the  _ shade,  _ right now, smoking not too far from families but also obscured enough to both not be seen but also not see them, is an escape to Billy. It’s the closest thing to familiar for him.

Maybe, Billy usually hangs out with Tommy at six anyways. Tommy mentioned how he’s not always home for his mom anymore. So maybe, Billy’s version of ‘after school’ was night time.

But right now, maybe, Billy’s version of after school is  _ now. _

Daytime, yellow and sunny and daisies, people outside and calm.

Steve’s starting to think that maybe, Billy wasn’t here to search for any guy. He remembers the laugh Billy let out behind him at the cafe when he said something cheesy to the old guy.

It doesn’t piss him off, though. He joins in with Billy, closes his eyes as well. Lets the smoke seep out from his lips to get lost in his own head.

Or maybe, Billy’s not  _ thinking. _

Maybe Billy’s just hearing.

There are many sounds.

Birds flying, in the air, chirping all around them. Somebody’s messing with a garbage bin on the sidewalk, it’s not too loud but it’s a different enough sound to stick out from the crowd of children laughing and mothers talking. People having conversations over the phone, walking by and Steve can hear a snippet of them. All business-related, or sometimes even just relating to family back home. 

Then, he hears a group of loud, obnoxious men laughing amongst themselves with a door opening in the back of it all. And he opens his eyes.

Billy’s looking too, cig abandoned on the floor now as he peers around the corner behind Steve.

“It’s free,” he says, stretches his back muscles and pats Steve before leaving the alley to head up the steps to the bar.

Steve tosses his cig on the ground too, heels it out alongside Billy’s and rummages through his pockets for his phone while he walks up the steps too. A bunch of concerned texts from his dad, asking where he is. Usually his dad’s not this concerned.

But he looks up, and Billy’s shrugging his hoodie tighter around himself while taking a seat at the emptiest spot in the crowded bar, and he puts his phone back in his pocket.

The bar’s full of middle-aged men. Young, older, et cetera. It’s varying, especially at this time of day, but they’re all enjoying themselves and having a friendly time. It’s not like Heather’s bar, which is cozier and less full, but it’s  _ nice. _

Steve just sits right besides Billy, and smiles.

“Y’know,” Steve starts, waiting for Billy to look up at him. And Billy does, finally, expressionless. “I never thought I’d see you out at this time of day for anything other than school.”

Billy’s eyes are focused on Steve’s lips, and he feels almost self-conscious because he didn’t bring chapstick or anything.

“Hm,” Billy hums and, well, all of it is ruined because the bartender slides a drink over and Steve  _ knows  _ this bar isn’t open a lot at night due to this street being cut off for construction reasons past six. Billy  _ definitely  _ wasn’t saying anything when he got in here, so, it means. Well. He’s either a regular, or has at least been here enough times for the bartender to just know. Something like that.

Which means, he’s been here at  _ this time of day.  _ Fun.

Billy grabs the glass and takes a sip, looking over at Steve absentmindedly.

“Okay, never mind then --”

“Why are you interested?” Billy cuts him off, licking his lips free of the possible alcohol. Steve really can’t tell what it is.

“Interested?”

“In knowing me.”

Oh.

“Uh -- why wouldn’t I be? You’re. Cool. Interesting, and stuff,” Steve trails off into a mutter. He doesn’t  _ really  _ know why.

Well, maybe he does? It’s confusing.

Billy shrugs dismissively and furrows his brows. He looks… stressed. Irritated. “Interesting, huh. Tommy said the same.”

_ Oh. _

“I’m not -- I’m not like him. Don’t worry. It’s - uh,” Steve scratches the back of his neck, still processing the conversation, “you’re… complex. I’m not calling you a - a  _ puzzle  _ or anything, that I want to solve, uh, I’m saying, like -- you’re different. Y’know? Like --”

“Steve,” Billy chuckles. Immediately all the tension’s thrown away with the chuckle, Steve realizing that, well, Billy means  _ well.  _ He’s not picking Steve apart or anything. Hopefully.

“I’m bad,” Billy states, and takes another sip. Steve tenses up. He continues.

“I know you probably don’t want to believe it, but I am,” he sighs, “I’m not just  _ bad,  _ I’m  _ bad for you.  _ I see it, and I...” just as Steve flushes shamefully, Billy looks away, “I can’t. What you saw yesterday? Not even the whole of it. It’s so much worse, Tommy’s seen it. You shouldn’t see it. While you still can, you should  _ get out.  _ Before my dad knows, before  _ they  _ know.”

And Billy’s lashes are so long, and his eyes are so vacant and his hoodie makes him look so vulnerable and different and Steve just. He’s embarrassed, yeah, but. He can’t let this happen.

“You’re drunk,” Steve blurts. It’s a stupid lie, and Billy looks at him, and laughs. “Steve, please.”

“It’s okay, we’ll --” It’s so half-assed, so desperate and Steve doesn’t know why but he tries to reach for the drink, only for Billy to pick it up and hold it behind him.

_ “Steve,”  _ Billy warns.

And Steve doesn’t listen, he kind of tips off his stool a little as he leans in over Billy’s lap, reaching desperately for the glass. It’s fine. It’s fine. Billy’s just.  _ Drunk. _

Then Billy’s resting his chin on Steve’s head, and he  _ completely  _ freezes.

“Steve,” Billy repeats, softer and it’s so  _ sad.  _ It’s honest. Why does Steve  _ hurt? _

Billy puts his drink back on the counter, lets his hand hover right next to Steve’s hand. It’s so, so close, and Steve  _ wants it  _ and he doesn’t know  _ why  _ and it’s all  _ confusing  _ but Billy just lets it sit there, so close yet so devastatingly far. A hair is a forest away. “Billy…” he whispers, unable to move.

“Please,” Billy whispers. It’s so low. “You have to leave. You have to  _ go,  _ while I still have control.”

“Why? What are you afraid of?” Steve asks without thinking. He’s so, genuinely curious. It hurts. It’s scaring him, all this  _ feeling  _ and. God. He doesn’t know what’s going through his own head anymore.

“I,” Billy’s hand gets just a little bit closer to Steve’s arm, and his breath hitches, “I’m trying so hard, to hold myself back here. I’m trying really, fuckin’ hard to not touch you. To not hurt you. You know what I mean, and I -- I can’t let myself do that to you. You know?”

That question at the end hangs like a rope, lost and not meant to be there. Steve’s just. It makes  _ sense,  _ that this would happen. Steve never thought Billy felt.. anything about it. Steve never realized Billy actually concerned over him, even if it was just one day.  _ How  _ would Billy hurt him?

_ Was it really just one day? _

It’s all a mess, what Billy’s saying, but it’s so unfamiliarly honest. But he’s probably been honest enough with Heather. 

Of course. Heather.

Her name has never felt so bitter to Steve.

“You can’t do  _ what,  _ Billy? Be my fucking boss? My  _ friend?”  _ Steve snaps, and pulls away from Billy. He leans back in his stool to gain more space. It’s too sudden. It’s too much.

“I can’t... “ Billy looks off, then back at Steve, “The deal’s off. You don’t need to pay me back.”

Fuck this.

Steve gets up, takes his phone out of his jacket then stuffs the jacket in Billy’s arms, much to the dirty blonde’s confusion. It’s ‘cause Billy was fucking  _ cold  _ in the hoodie. He noticed.

“Fuck you,” he spits, doesn’t look at Billy in the eye because. It’s  _ embarrassing.  _ It’s stupid and scary, and his eyes are getting watery and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what’s going on. He just wants.. he wants Tommy to be  _ safe,  _ right? And he wanted to  _ know  _ Billy.

Billy’s completely silent, and Steve’s almost grateful for that if it didn’t make him so  _ pissed.  _ He just leaves him, runs out the bar and  _ goes.  _ Away. Somewhere. Anywhere.

There are less people, and Steve decides that maybe he could pay Heather a visit.

It’s darker, bluer, grayer, and  _ colder.  _ The wind blows in Steve’s face as his legs make quick, long steps along the sidewalks to find his way into Crowns Street. The sky’s painted with clouds, like oil brush streaks along the blue contrasting with almost-white, almost-black. Moving ever so slowly, being left behind with every step he gets closer to Heather’s bar.

All that Steve can think of is  _ away.  _ There are no warm colors anymore, no golden or heat or shade. The whole world’s a little shaded, again.

And across the street, familiar purple lights switch on and Steve glances at his phone while walking with blurry eyes to try and see the time. He finally blinks to clear his vision, lets a tear roll down his cheek and finds that it’s six.

_ Fuck  _ Hargrove.

Fuck him. Fuck him.  _ Fuck him. _

He sniffles, wipes at his cheeks with the back of his knuckles, avoids his eyes to avoid moving his contacts around. There’s neon blue lights above him, now, and the street is beginning to look desolate.

It’s all gaining color, and it’s all becoming  _ dangerous. _

He gets Nancy, now.

He’s just bullshit.

Everything about him is stupid, because he.

_ Fuck. _

He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t understand, he doesn’t get it, and he’s so  _ scared  _ that he will, soon. Even as the bar feels so close, he feels like he’s so much closer to the beginning. Like he unwrapped some part of himself, but now he’s left to figure it out on his own again. He just. Doesn’t  _ understand. _

Why does he care?

Why  _ should  _ he?

It’s stupid,  _ Hargrove’s  _ stupid, and Steve swiftly turns his phone back on to tap on Nancy’s contact. He has to say sorry.

Instead of hitting it, though, he sees Heather’s number saved right below Nancy’s. He got it from Robin, never put a name on it, but. It’s there. And he  _ is  _ headed to her.

_ Heather. _

She’ll probably tell Hargrove. She’s his best fucking friend, like a  _ sister  _ to him or something. Or maybe more. Maybe she’s just as bad as Hargrove is.

Steve has never felt so small.

Still, he taps her and hits  _ call. _

Because he doesn’t know what else to do, or where else to go. And maybe she’ll let Hargrove know he’s  _ pissed.  _ If Hargrove. Cares. Or anything.

The beeps are loud. He taps his foot impatiently, staring down at the pavement, leaning on the wall by the alley. The streets aren’t crowded here anymore, doesn’t look like they ever are in Crowns.

_ “Hey, it’s Heather Holloway.”  _ Right to voice mail.

Steve doesn’t even bother to listen to the rest of it, just groans and mutters to himself.

“Fuckin’...  _ bitch,”  _ he spits without thinking, and ends the call to try and call Nancy instead. He’ll just get it over with, face his fears. He’s nothing to those popular kids, anyways.

_ Rrrrrng. _

The phone vibrates immediately as he taps on Nancy, lighting up with Heather’s number, the glaringly red option to  _ decline  _ sticks out to Steve.

He accepts.

_ “Hey, sorry, was getting yelled at by my boss,”  _ Heather huffs, she sounds like she’s doing something. She’s definitely at the bar, there’s the faint sounds of glass clinking and guys laughing.

Steve smiles anyways, stupidly, pinches the bridge of his nose and opens his mouth to speak, “I --”

_ White. _

Steve drops his phone in shock, nearly falls to the ground with the impact of the fist that connected with his jaw. “What the fuck!” He shouts, panicked, tripping to get his phone off the ground before he’s kicked in the stomach and drops right next to his phone anyways. He can hear Heather’s concerned voice from the other end.

The man above him is nothing familiar, he’s got a coat on and gray hairs and a fresh stubble, looks professional and homeless all in one and  _ nobody’s  _ around to watch or hear Steve scream when the man steps on Steve’s wrist and presses down. He expects a sickening  _ crack,  _ something, but it doesn’t happen.

“What the fuck do you want!” Steve howls, tries to scramble and get up but gets kicked down again. Things are getting blurrier,  _ he should’ve eaten this morning.  _ He’s in no way fit enough to fight this man off at  _ all. _

It’s fucking scary, he doesn’t know what to do or say or ask, he’s in an  _ insane  _ amount of cold pain, a stinging left on his abdomen and his jaw still aching and sore.

This time, his nose hits the hard concrete ground first and blood leaks. Heather’s ended the call, his phone screen’s cracked.

_ It must be nice. _

_ Being strong, having the courage to work out. _

All that goes through Steve’s head is  _ he’s dead.  _ He’s dead, and there’s nothing he can do about it. Because the moment he looks into those gray, dead eyes of the man, he recognizes them. The familiar chill, of the eyes on him all the time. The man in the alley when he ran with Heather. The man that  _ follows him. _

The fucking  _ psycho. _

Despite Steve’s reluctance to try, he still makes an effort. Still screams, tries pushing the guy off him with his blurry vision and weak arms, but it’s all in vain.

“Little Harrington…” the man drawls happily, the r’s rolling off thick off his tongue and Steve’s  _ terrified.  _ He’s  _ crying,  _ and he can taste copper. The asshole reaches into his coat pocket with his gloved hands, eyes firmly trained on Steve. He lets his hand linger in there, teasingly, creepily.

It must be a knife.

It has to be. Something.

A joke?

Please, be a  _ joke. _

Steve writhes under the pressure of the man’s foot, struggles and tries to get out again, but his body won’t work with him right. It just twitches, breaks down. And he can only scream again.

_ Fuck Billy fucking Hargrove. It’s all his fault. _

The man’s hand finally comes out, and with it a dark, clean gun. Steve’s blood runs  _ cold  _ and he shrieks, manages to rip his wrist out from beneath the dickhead, and tries to crawl off desperately.

All the guy has to do is grab him by the ankles and drag him back, and he cries harder.

“I don’t fucking deserve this,” he’s hyperventilating, “fuck you, fuck you -- oh my god,  _ ohmygod --” _

There’s no air. He’s drowning. He’s suffocating. He’s gonna  _ die  _ before this man can even cock the gun.

Then, he opens his eyes and gasps painfully, dryly, chokes and stammers. Coughs, wheezes and his own blood’s running down his throat. Or maybe  _ up?  _ He can’t feel his nose, or his face, or  _ him. _

All Steve sees is the barrel of the gun, and the fat, ugly tears just flow down his face freely.  _ Fuck it all. _

And he thinks of Nancy, and Jonathan, and Dustin and  _ Billy. _

_ Jesus, I fucking like Billy. _

And he closes his eyes.

_ Bang. _

It’s all white, it’s ringing loud in his ears and he still feels the blood crawling down his chin and up his throat. He feels the vomit, still feels like  _ shit. _

Is he dead?

And then the blood gets too much, and he starts  _ hacking,  _ manages to sit up and his eyes open, bleary, and the ringing’s still there but he can see two.

Two. Like. Guys.

Guys?

One of them has long hair.

And it’s a pretty blonde, and, as Steve’s vision clears, he wheezes even more, throws right up on the floor near him. It feels like he vomits out his fucking  _ organs. _

The ringing is getting softer, and he can see a little hole in the wall not too close to him. A bullet hole.

_ He’s alive. _

That realization helps his vision completely clear, that realization lets his energy return back into his limbs and makes his head whip back to the  _ two guys. _

There’s  _ Billy  _ fucking  _ Hargrove,  _ practically pouncing on the coated man and clawing his skin off. Using his knuckles to aim for the neck, all dirty and  _ quick  _ and bloody. He’s  _ screaming,  _ it looks like. Or yelling.

Steve feels like he’s gonna throw up again, but then the coated man throws Billy onto the street, heaving, and  _ runs.  _ Bolts far beyond Steve’s vision, completely untethered.

And Billy hits his head, growls, gets up and sees Steve.

_ Fuck. _

Steve puts his hands around his own throat, dry heaves air and his body is just so  _ rotten  _ at not being able to throw up anything. There’s just nothing in him anymore. And his heart’s going crazy, and he’s not sure if it’s from Billy or…

_ “...eve,  _ Steve!”

He looks back up, finding Billy right by him, red-faced and sweating. There’s blood in the corner of his mouth, and Steve doesn’t even try and stop himself when his hand reaches up to wipe it away.

Billy doesn’t do anything, just picks up Steve’s phone and puts it in his jacket, wrapping his arm around Steve’s back.

Is this like, a hug?

Then Billy’s other arm is under Steve’s legs, and he’s lifting him up.

_ Oh. _

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Billy exhales, his voice is cracked and wet and  _ scared. _

Steve smiles, stupidly. Still terrified. He searches his body, tries to figure out where his voice comes from like an  _ idiot.  _ Lifts his finger instead.

Finally,  _ something  _ comes out of his mouth. But it’s just a  _ whimper. _

Billy adjusts Steve in his hold, mutters an  _ I know  _ and starts walking the rest of the way to the bar. His head is so close to Steve’s.

Oh, why does Billy need to carry him? What’s the point?

But Steve can’t really move himself, his legs feel weak, his stomach feels like shit and his jaw’s probably bruised. He can feel the blood still coming out of his nose, though a lot less now.

When he turns his head, he realizes they’re already at the bar. Billy doesn’t move any further, just waits out there and keeps Steve in his arms.

A car pulls up on the street, Billy’s dad’s one, and Heather comes out of it. The door slams behind her and she checks over Steve, brows furrowing and lips tight. “Get him in,” Billy interrupts her inspection, storms to the car with Steve still in his arms.

Heather quickly opens the door and helps Billy lay Steve in the backseats, then she gets in after and lets Steve rest his legs on top of hers. The door closes. Steve misses Billy already.

It’s silent, Steve can’t quite think straight. Can’t quite  _ think.  _ He feels so strange, off, like he’s still processing things. It’s laggy, his mind. Right now.

The driver’s door opens and Steve opens his mouth to giggle out a  _ Billyyy. _

All that comes out is a light sigh. Followed by a harsh one.

He really can’t use his voice. He doesn’t know why. He feels so weak.

Heather rummages around in her purse then pulls Steve up, lets him lie his back against the actual back of the seats. She puts his seatbelt in and his eyes drift towards Billy in the mirror, who’s looking at him through it with such cautious eyes. Angry eyes. There’s a  _ fire. _

It’s a moment where Steve can finally read and understand what Billy’s feeling through his eyes.

Heather puts her fingers on Steve’s chin and forces him to face her, much to his displeasure. He wants to look at  _ Billy,  _ not Heather. Fuck Heather. He can remember Billy chanting shit like that about other girls, in the showers, when he was new.  _ Fuck girls. _

But Heather’s gentle, even as it stings. And when the car’s moving, she talks Steve through her process, giving him various excuses to use about his broken nose while fixing it up for him.

So. Okay.  _ Fuck  _ some  _ girls. _

  
  


He opens his eyes, focuses on a gray ceiling. For a moment, he’s serene.

Then he realizes nothing is familiar.

Panic soars through his body, just as the pain spreads from his abdomen to his hips when he jumps up, hyperventilating. The room’s clean, modern, sleek and nothing shows any sign of  _ who  _ belongs here. He can vaguely recall what happened, Billy saving him from some stalker, but also fighting him. It’s a little out of order.

There’s a window, telling Steve that he’s on a higher floor, and then he realizes he’s still in the city. It’s nighttime, he’s not wearing his bloody shirt anymore, he’s got a hoodie on. It’s a little big on him, but it’s cozy and soft and smells like cologne.

He flushes, realizing it’s probably Billy’s.

And  _ oh God,  _ he  _ likes  _ Billy.

The door opens, revealing Heather with water. She smiles, relieved.

“Didn’t think you’d wake up,” Heather sighs, walking over and holding out the glass of water. Steve gladly takes it and chugs it down.

Immediately, all the copper he was tasting earlier is washed away. He feels fresher, better. And he knows how to use his voice.

“Didn’t think I’d live,” he says. His voice is still a bit raspy, unused, but it works enough to just sound like he’s sick or something.

Heather giggles friendly and leans against the bedside table when Steve places the glass there. “That was the guy following us.”

“Yeah. I don’t know who he was, but he’s been following me for a long time.”

“Why didn’t you tell us? He could’ve killed you.”

“Well, he nearly did. But. I didn’t want to worry anyone, and, I didn’t want Billy to have anything else to hold against me.”

“Billy’s not a bad person.”

“I know.” He looks down.

It’s quiet, and then Heather sighs again. “This is just my apartment while I’m trying to get through private school in the city. Thought you’d get scared.”

Steve brings his knees up to his chest, finds himself pantsless and goes red.

Heather notices, laughs, “Don’t worry, Billy did it. I made sure he wasn’t doing anything dirty, he also found your lens container in the jacket’s pocket and  _ that  _ was the awkward part to deal with.”

Oh, that makes sense. Steve can’t read the time or make out the pattern on the scarf on the wall. It looks like stripes, but it may be  _ more. _

Habitually, Steve rubs at his eyes after realizing the contacts are gone. “What now?”

“We get you fed, hydrated, and drive you back home. If you want.”

“Does Billy have more work?” Steve looked up.

“He still has to get that asshole strip club owner’s signed papers, but he’s putting that aside today to make sure you’re okay.”

Steve tenses, remembering the way that white suited man looked at him. He tugs the blankets closer around himself, “Does he care about me? What’s in the papers?”

“Of course he does,” Heather’s smile shines through, probably a little amused or something, “the papers are just for money. The owner owes his dad, Billy does the dirty work of getting it.”

_ His dad. _

“Is Billy’s dad… bad?” Steve whispers, nervously.

Heather goes silent, then picks up the empty glass. “If you need your pants, they’re not exactly clean right now. You boys wear briefs and see each other naked all the time, I’m sure it’s fine. I can lend you some of my bigger pairs if you want.”

“Uh, that’ll be nice, thanks.”

Heather nods then leaves the room.

Steve could  _ stay,  _ and wallow in despair at knowing Billy’s dad is not good  _ and  _ that Billy cares about him as well as  _ Billy’s his crush,  _ but the door’s wide open and Steve just.

Kind of wants to see Billy, before Billy leaves.

He gets up and the hoodie drops to just above where his briefs end, and he wonders how Billy wore it if Billy’s shorter than him. It’s probably to do with the fact that Billy’s muscular, taut and anything that’s put on him just kind of stretches with his big muscles. And Steve’s lanky, a little chubby in some places but overall average and awkward.

Billy’s got golden skin. Steve’s just milky.

_ Wow. _

The lounge room, where the kitchen, front door, and living room are connected is  _ fucking amazing.  _ There’s a large window going up until the ceiling, almost curved, and it shows the city in all of its neon beauty. The air in the room is cold, but it’s a large expanse that’s mostly dark yet outlined so well with the blue and purple lights coming from the far away buildings and clubs. It’s definitely not Crowns Street, maybe the streets leading up to it.

Even though the room is so dark with the barest hint of color, the moonlight shines down on the furniture and a dark silhouette on the single couch, with gray puffs of smoke billowing from between their highlighted lips. They almost cover his face.

And it’s, like,  _ now  _ Steve gets it. Now he can put a name to the giddy feeling he gets at the sight.

“Vaping?” Steve questions aloud, leans on the door frame with his arms crossed. The hoodie’s sleeves kind of flop over his knuckles.

Then the lips turn, following its head, and the vape is lowered. Billy’s lips part, just the slightest bit, as the moonlight accentuates his cheekbones in a way the sun probably never will, “Heather quit smoking, doesn’t have any cigs.”

And Billy’s eyes shine, rake over Steve’s form and lingers on the hem of his hoodie, ending right at his briefs. Pink dusts Steve’s cheeks, his heart races just the slightest bit faster and he walks over with a straight face. Down the steps, closer to Billy to see more of him with his vision and he sits on the bigger couch, knees pressed together to keep Billy from seeing  _ more. _

“You look delicious, princess,” Billy purrs, and Steve can finally see that Billy’s  _ smiling.  _ It’s teasing, but it’s also genuine. Relieved, like Heather.

“I’m sorry,” Steve says. He doesn’t know  _ why,  _ but he feels like he should be.

Billy’s smile drops, and he raises the vape again to push against his pillowy pink lips.

The smoke comes out like a fog, creeps up and around Billy’s face and Steve tries not to focus on that. He leans in a little more, waiting.

“Don’t be,” Billy says flatly, “I owed you.”

_ Owed him? _

“What?” Steve tilts his head, not unlike a puppy, Nancy’s noted in the past. And Billy seems to see it too, in the way he chuckles.

“When you walked Heather, remember?”

When he walked Heather…

Like, when he walked with Heather a few blocks down and she knew there was a guy following them? And Billy came to give her a ride?

_ Oh. _

Right. Of course. Billy just owed him. Billy’s all fair game, Steve’s seen.

He tries to cover himself deflating like a balloon with just a stupid nervous smile while he leans back in the couch, and his legs release tension for a moment, they spread just the slightest bit and Billy’s eyes dart down for the briefest of seconds.

Billy’s pink tongue runs along his teeth with his grin, “I’d have been there regardless of whether or not you owed me.”

“Oh! There you are,” Heather interrupts, and holds out a folded pair of leggings to Steve around the couch.

“Leggings?” Steve snorts, eyeing it from the corner of his vision. It’s black, at least.

But also, black  _ kind of  _ shows off curves a little too much.

“I don’t have any jeans, so,” she shrugs and shoves it in Steve’s lap. Then, dusting her hands, she grabs the vape out of Billy’s hand, much to his confusion, and walks off. “Have fun, boys, I’ll be in the shower. You can leave whenever, Steve, but help yourself to the food.”

And at the mention of food, Billy gets up as Heather closes the bathroom door. Steve watches the way his legs move when he walks to the kitchen, the way he strides with such confidence.

“Gonna put it on, pretty boy?” Billy asks aloud without looking behind, opening the fridge.

“O-oh, uh --” Steve stammers and swallows, quickly unfolds the leggings and puts one foot in one side and one in the other. Pulls through.

It fits. Strangely enough.

Also shows off his figure.

Of course.

At least it’s not  _ thin  _ leggings, for the weather outside. It’s thick enough to provide some warmth and coverage. Nobody would think to look at his ass if they only looked once or twice.

Finally, Steve turns around and finds Billy’s head turned towards him just the slightest. But his eyes are immediately averted, looking into the fridge again.

Okay.

Steve nearly snorts, but fights it. Instead he walks to the kitchen and leans on the counter to peer into the open fridge from beside Billy. 

“Anything catch your eye?” Billy asks, clearing his throat. It doesn’t come off condescending or anything, weirdly enough. Kind of didn’t sound like a genuine question either though.

_ What caught  _ your  _ eye, Hargrove? _

“Banana,” Steve says.

“That  _ can’t  _ be right.”

“Banana.”

“Okay, okay,” Billy laughs and pulls out a banana. He closes the fridge and holds it out to Steve.

Right when Steve reaches for it, Billy pulls it back, smiling, “What do you say?”

“What?” Steve’s brows knit together. He just wants the  _ banana. _

“You want this banana?”

“Just give it, asshole.”

“That ain’t no way to speak. What do you say?”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Billy’s got the biggest, stupidest grin on his face and Steve knows he can’t fight. He doesn’t really want to anyways.

_ “Please?”  _ Steve asks, and purposefully heightens his voice and puts on his famous doe eyed act. Like the puppy eyes, but more effective on some people.

Billy’s lips twitch for a moment before he hands the banana over silently.

Steve grins and peels it, already shoveling it into his mouth carelessly. His tummy feels  _ delighted  _ at this but when his knuckle bumps his nose just a little, he flinches.

“Shit, you okay?” Billy asks, hands raised in alarm.

“Just hit my nose is all.”

“Be careful,” Billy breathes, chuckling.

It’s just quiet, as Steve chews down the banana and tosses its peel into the bin, with Billy on his phone scrolling through things.

“You know,” Steve swallows and starts, and Billy looks up from his phone, “I think this has something to do with that murder.”

“What murder?” Billy asks, setting his phone down on the counter to fully face Steve. His attention’s all on the brunette, and that excites Steve, makes him look down all giddy and stuff.

“That guy who died in Crowns, in an alley.”

“They called him homeless, though, he definitely wasn’t. Might’ve been bullshit.”

“Or they were covering it up.  _ Or  _ he was supposed to look homeless,” Steve theorizes, then hums. “Damn, if I had Nance…”

“Fuck Nancy,” Billy blurts, completely randomly. He shuts his mouth and looks down, before looking right back into Steve’s eyes, “We can figure it out. We don’t need her help.”

Okay, so, it does kind of fill Steve up with some satisfaction when Billy reacts like that, but he crosses his arms regardless. “You sure? What can we do?”

“I’ll figure something out,” Billy turns his phone on again and starts typing something.

“What?” Steve snorts but Billy doesn’t look up, just smiles a little.

Okay, he’s serious.

Steve reaches out across the corner of the counter and pushes Billy’s phone down out of his face just a few inches with his finger. “Billy,” he says.

Billy looks up, bewildered, “I was --”

“Nancy’s not a threat, you know. She’s my friend.”

“She’ll get.. hurt.”

“She won’t, she’ll just help with the theories. That’s all.”

And of course, Billy’s not  _ perfect.  _ Steve knows that. He’s got a short temper, uber messy curls on the weekends, tanned skin that breaks off into a lighter shade right at his hips that Steve’s never dared to think longer of, petty humor based around the humiliation or misunderstanding of others, excessive smoking habits and gets himself in trouble a lot.

This moment, where Billy’s scrambling to find an excuse to just avoid Nancy, shows that he’s not the most understanding either. Steve knows that, of course, because when he cried at the club, Billy isolated himself in a corner. Billy’s not an  _ emotions  _ person.

But if Billy just owed him, he’d save his life, fix him up, and leave him on the side of the street all alone. Billy didn’t do that.

He fought the man, screamed at him and carried Steve, changed him and lent him his hoodie and took the time to get his contacts out and keep him around. He blocked Steve from the white-suited man’s view when the asshole was eyeing Steve up. He left his jacket at home to not risk losing it, because Steve told him he  _ liked it. _

Billy’s got a little bit of care for Steve, whether he’ll admit it or not.

So Steve knows, even as Billy’s mouth is open and is spilling lies and excuses, he  _ knows  _ he can just tell him he’ll call Nancy, and Billy will let him.

So.

“I’m gonna call Nancy,” Steve states, turning around to head for the bedroom again. Billy doesn’t say anything, just shuts up.

He smiles, knowing that he’s cracked the code now. Hoping, at least.  _ Hopefully  _ he’s figured Billy out, because he’d feel a little stupid if he hasn’t. A little lame.

The phone’s on the bedside table, ringing and, conveniently, it’s a call from Nancy.

Steve picks it up and answers, holds it up to his ear.

“Yo.”

“Where  _ are  _ you? Your dad’s been texting you, and he’s been calling me nonstop. He thinks I did something bad, or something. Jesus _ Christ.” _ Despite her angry words, Nancy sounds concerned and incredibly tired.

“I got attacked.”

_ “What?” _

Steve shrugs despite her not seeing it, and leans against the bedside table with one hand. “Eh, it’s nothing. You free?”

“Uh, now I am,” Steve can hear the rustling of papers from the other end, “Where are you? I’ll get Jonathan.”

Jonathan wasn’t part of the plan, but he’ll take it.

“I, uh,” Steve raises his chin in thought, to find Billy by the door frame leaning on it with his arms crossed. Looking, grinning. “You guys have Robin’s contact? Ask her where Heather lives. Just tell her I need a ride after helping clean up the apartment.. or something.”

It’s not a bad excuse, but it’s definitely a bit of an overused one on Steve’s end. For many things.

Steve folds his arm over his chest, letting his hand rest on his own bicep in a semi-arm cross. Billy walks into the room and closer.

Ah.

The butterflies.

They flutter their wings and fly around in Steve’s stomach as his breath catches, Billy leaning against the bedside table too and almost pressing his chest up against Steve’s side.

“Heather?” Nancy questions after a moment.

“Yeah.” Steve’s voice comes out too airy, and he clears his throat, eyes darting between Billy’s face so close to his and the doorframe in case Heather comes back. “Uh, Robin’s friend. Does.. bar stuff.”

Billy rests his chin on Steve’s shoulder, and Steve can  _ feel  _ his hot breath on his neck and cheek. It’s distracting.

“Uh, which Robin? Jonathan has like, three Robins in his contacts. I don’t have any.”

“Robin -- uh,” Steve licks his dry lips, swallows down the butterflies when Billy’s arm comes around to play with the back of Steve’s hair, “Buckley. Robin Buckley.” The fingers twirling with his baby curls and locks, tickling the back of his neck and softly carding through his long hair make his mouth twitch.

“Okay, okay, what do I tell your dad?”

“Don’t tell him anything.”

“I’ll be there in an hour.”

It’s probably gonna take longer, because Steve’s in  _ the city  _ and Nancy lives a fair bit away from it, combined with that she’s taking Jonathan. He’ll take it, though, he wants to hang out with Billy just a little bit longer. For. Reasons.

“Cool,” Steve nods carefully, “See ya then.”

And then he ends the call and places the phone behind him on the table. Billy pulls away, much to Steve’s reluctance, and grins wider. “She’s coming?”

“Don’t make fun of her.”

“Okay, okay,” Billy laughs, licks his lips and Steve’s eyes linger on them for far too long to not be noticed. Thankfully, Billy says nothing even when his smile splits his fucking face in two after.

God, Steve didn’t think this would happen.

_ Fuck. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr is nancywrote!!
> 
> not a lot happened this chap, but idm tbhh. hopefully i communicated well steve's feelings towards billy and all that! thank you for reading, leave a comment if you'd like and i hope you enjoyed!! ^^


	4. Apologies

Heather crosses her arms, looking at the board full of photos, news articles, and red ribbon. It’s a mess. Nancy huffs once she’s pinned the last image of the man up and steps back to look at her work.

“This is some nerdy shit,” Heather laughs finally.

Yeah, it really is.

Steve crosses the bedroom from his corner to scoot closer to Billy, who’s leaning against the drawers and observing the board with confusion written all over his face. “She knows what she’s doing,” Steve says. He  _ knows  _ she does.

Jonathan’s eyes move to them for the briefest of moments before refocusing on the board.

There are pictures of all the sightings in the past of this man in the suit, taken from many sites and even old city photos. Dates are scribbled in the corners of each photo, time stamps on the ones that Nancy can get, and Nancy left her red string at home so Heather just gave her her decorative red ribbons with white polka dots instead. It worked, miraculously.

Though, there’s really nothing stand-out ish about this man. He wears the same ragged looking suit, is always standing straight and obscured in the crowd, and there doesn’t seem to be any particular thing about him that gives away  _ what  _ he is. Not that Steve can really see. He just looks like some common business man, albeit weirdly homeless-looking with how dirty his clothes are in some pictures.

“So, any  _ conspiracies,  _ alien girl?” Billy asks, and Steve slaps him in the stomach lightly.

Oh  _ God,  _ he can feel how built Billy is through his shirt. And Billy doesn’t even  _ flinch.  _ Just looks at him with. Eyes.

Nancy looks at them indifferently, then scans the board again. “He’s not poor, he’s got an.. iPhone? And a flip phone. So, his suit’s not stolen. Probably. Unless he’s stolen everything he has.”

“This gets us nowhere,” Billy grumbles.

It’s gonna be a bit awkward to get used to the two anywhere near each other, Billy’s just gonna constantly  _ bitch  _ and Nancy’s gonna get pissed inevitably and probably beat the shit out of him. Well, honestly, Steve’s pretty sure Nancy’ll lose after he felt Billy’s abs. But Billy doesn’t hit women.

Probably.

It’s quiet again. Nancy’s looking at the board, touching various articles and pictures absent-mindedly while Heather watches her. Jonathan’s staring at Billy weirdly, and Billy’s looking down at his phone. Steve keeps watching Nancy though.

Something like a light flicks in her eyes when they land on one photo, and her brows come down into a knot. “Steve?” she asks, tapping the photo of the man in a large crowd.

“Yeah?”

Billy tries to subtly look up, tries to pretend he’s not paying attention but Steve can see he’s not even responding to the texts his dad’s giving him. Unless that’s a.. family thing.

“Where were you on Christmas?”

Weird question, but okay.

He thinks for a moment. It’s hard to remember, because he barely did much in December and only realized it was Christmas when he went to sleep that night. Didn’t do shit on the day other than open the present his mom gave him, which was a bracelet. It was a weird looking bracelet, honestly. His mom kept apologizing for giving it, for whatever reason. He never wore it outside the house.

Oh, but he can figure it out.

There was a text, from Dustin, that let him know it was Christmas. And Dustin was at a family gathering on that day. They were texting that whole day, and had a short call somewhere when Dustin was bored.

The..  _ mall.  _ Starcourt.

“Uh, Starcourt. Y’know, that cool one. Retro vibes. I was shopping for more socks.”

“Okay,” Nancy breathes, uncertain. Her fingers move to another photo, and Steve can’t see it quite clearly without his contacts this time. It’s further up the board. “Where were you… the day after Lucas’ birthday?”

_ How’s  _ he gonna remember  _ that? _

“I was _ not  _ invited to his birthday party. I don’t know.”

“He didn’t have one,” Jonathan says. Ah.

“The day the supervisor of the Literature club left school?” Nancy continues.

“Getting drunk at Tommy’s,” Steve shrugs. He remembers that, it was a celebration.

“What about when this guy was killed?” And she turns, eyes wide. She looks kind of angry too.

He hesitates for a moment, then answers, leaning a little more into Billy’s space, Billy leans right back, “At Crowns.”

Nancy’s eyes  _ bulge  _ and she groans, “Steve! How fucking long have you been involved with Hargrove?” Heather’s eyes widen at this too, almost amused.

Billy straightens and steps in front of Steve, “Leave him alone, Wheeler, he owed me.”

“What the fuck did you make him  _ do?” _

Jonathan wraps his arms around Nancy to hold her back. Thank  _ god. _

_ “Nothing.  _ Jesus,” Billy laughs, and it sounds forced,  _ “he’s  _ the one who stepped in to save Tommy. All guardian angel and shit.”

Steve flushes and looks down. “Nance, what’s going on?”

“This guy’s been following you around.”

He kind of knew that.

“Well, that explains why he’d want me dead? I guess?”

“No, not that one. The dead one’s the one who’s been following you, the one who attacked you is doing that too.”

“Why?”

“Hell if I know, but it’s fucked up!” Nancy groans. She places her hand over Jonathan’s arm and backs them up to gesture to the board, “I bet it’s ‘cause of Billy.”

Billy flinches, “Why the fuck --”

“-- It’s  _ not  _ because of Billy. I wasn’t involved with him during Christmas,” Steve clarifies, and pulls Billy further from Nancy just in case. Billy’s completely frozen up. Red in the face.

“Why  _ else  _ would these psychopaths want you dead then? Maybe Billy’s got something to do with it. What if  _ he  _ wants you dead?”

At this point, it’s clear Nancy’s picking at straws here. There’s no way Billy wants him  _ dead,  _ this would be a fucked up long-con play if Billy did, because Billy  _ saved  _ him.

“This is bullshit,” Billy spits, and Steve nods.

“You need to calm down, Nance,” Steve says. It doesn’t look like she takes it well, by how her eyes gloss over even angrier, but then a resounding  _ slam  _ resonates in the room and catches everyone off guard.

Steve’s eyes move towards the source, finding a hole in some abstract canvas followed by a tense Billy with his fist dropped red by his side.

_ “Don’t  _ fucking assume you know  _ shit  _ about my intentions, Wheeler.” His voice is deep, low and  _ warning.  _ The whole mood changes with his drop in tone, and his words roll off his tongue smoothly and all too threateningly towards Nancy, “I’ve taken better care of Harrington in the past weeks than you ever have in your little one-step relationship.”

Steve looks to Nancy, sees wide eyes and paler skin and absolute  _ fear. _

There’s no doubt in Hargrove’s tone.

As Billy speaks, everything he says comes out like a  _ fact.  _ A  _ promise.  _ Animalistic and feral, but  _ knowing. _

“Watch what you say,” he licks his canines, raises his brows invitingly and mockingly, “unless you want to end up back on the list.”

_ Back? _

And then before Jonathan can say anything, before Steve can catch any words between his lips to let out, Billy walks out the room and just.  _ Leaves. _

The front door can be heard, Steve can see a little glimpse of the light from the apartment complex’s corridor. And Heather scoffs.

Nancy’s quiet as Heather starts taking the canvas down to assess the damage. All Steve can do is stay glued to his spot, letting his eyes dart frantically around the room to make sense of things.

_ Back. _

The words echo in his head, bounce off the walls and his heart’s completely stilled. Cold air entering his lungs. Not the good kind. The vacant, distant,  _ wrong  _ kind. The kind that wraps around his ribs and limits his breathing. The kind that gets warm, then really hot once it’s all in.

He looks at Nancy, and she’s packing her bags.

  
  


She said nothing.

She packed up everything, took Jonathan’s hand, left with a  _ sorry  _ to Heather and didn’t look at Steve once.

It fucks with his mind. Toys with his thoughts of what Billy was.

Billy’s a troublemaker, right?

Just that. And Nancy was just afraid of letting Steve know she was careless enough to have gotten involved with him on accident. That’s all.

But they’re like, kind of best friends. And  _ Jonathan  _ looked surprised. Worried.

What did Billy make her do?

What did Billy  _ find out? _

Steve tosses and turns in his bed until the golden orange of the sun blinds him, and he gets up quickly to get dressed. Doesn’t bother to shower.

But as soon as he’s on his feet, he’s a bit dizzy and his phone’s right there. So.

He picks up his phone and turns it on. Stares at the Apple logo like it’s important until he’s finally able to tap into his contacts. There, over twenty texts from his dad alone.

Another twenty from Nancy. He definitely didn’t look last night.

His fingers hover over Nancy’s, and he decides instead to look at his dad, nervously. He snuck back into his room at midnight after Nancy left, Heather gave him another once over and told him to keep the clothes then gave him a ride back to his car. Of course, it was untouched, but they both still examined it with caution before even unlocking it.

Danger felt too close then. It feels even closer now, without Billy.

All the texts from Steve’s dad are stupid. They’re worded carefully, but clearly so panicked by how many were sent. Even repeats of the same question, just differently orchestrated. His dad was always paranoid.

He wonders if the man followed him home.

Since fucking Christmas, that man’s probably been following him everywhere.

Why  _ now? _

It all sends Steve’s mind back into a downwards spiral, so he locks the thoughts away and. Well. He should be more concerned with his safety, and not getting grounded by his dad or something. So, that’s what he’ll think about instead. It’ll be fine.

The texts were all basically  _ are you okay  _ and  _ where are you.  _ All the normal dad Harrington questions, always asked, even more recently. Annoyingly so.

He looks at his closet, and thinks about Christmas. The present. The weird bracelet he never wore.

Okay, it may not be the  _ most  _ important thing to think about right now. But he kind of. Misses his mom. He should wear it, because at least if he does die, she’ll know he still loves her. Even with all her shenanigans, all her craziness, she was the only one who cared about him more genuinely than dad.

Carefully, Steve steps over to his closet, still dressed in leggings and Billy’s hoodie (much to his comfort and guilt) and he opens it. At the very bottom is a black box, with various old or stretched pants lazily piled into it.

The bracelet’s just at the bottom.

So he goes to his knees and digs, messes his closet up even more as he tosses the pants to a further corner and sluggishly feels around in the dark. Honestly, he’s just depending on the still-rising sun for light. It’s peeking through his thin curtains, but all it does is give the room some sort of a glow. He can’t draw attention to himself, though, or his dad’ll come in and kick his ass or something.

Finally, he feels something hard and plastic-like on the tips of his fingers and he wraps around it and pulls it out beneath a pair of ripped jeans. It’s stupid looking.

Whatever.

The bracelet is rough, lightweight and almost makes him think of those slap watches he used to get when he was younger in the way it curves. It’s not connected at the back, he can put it on by sliding it through his hand or pushing it onto his wrist and it’ll fit and adjust just fine. Looks a little uncomfortable though. It’s gray, almost feels rubbery all in one. It’s just a mixture of shit Steve isn’t gonna mull on.

He closes his closet and rocks back on his heels as he gets up, examining the bracelet hesitantly. It just looks like a weird band of cheap stuff. Like those tech you’d see in an old wanna-be scifi song with all of its tin foil hats and shitty editing.

The thought brings a chuckle out of him, and he licks his dry lips. It’s  _ tempting  _ to put on, but it’s also  _ tempting  _ to throw away.

Steve lets his ass drop onto the soft mattress behind him, uses his free hand to pull the hem of Billy’s hoodie closer to his mouth while he observes the bracelet. Doesn’t know why. It just smells and feels nice.

His fingers curl around the soft fabric in thought.

_ Will she judge him? _

Well, it was only given to him as a present, he doubts it’ll make much of an impact if she saw it on him or not.

Fuck, was he talking about the hoodie or the bracelet?

The hoodie wasn’t a present. It was just…

Oh. Shit. He has to ask Heather for his clothes back later. Thank god he got his contacts back.

_ Contacts. _

Steve looks to his right at the glasses abandoned by his bedside table, like,  _ maybe  _ they’ll help him decide whether or not he should wear the bracelet. It’s not supposed to be a hard decision, the bracelet just looks  _ super  _ uncomfortable and it’s a little grim to think that he’s only wearing it in case he dies.

He stretches his arm over the bed and leans in to grab his glasses, puts them on reluctantly and twirls the bracelet on his fingers.

The bracelet slips.

And it drops to the ground, clatters on the hard texture and barely bounces. Steve fucking  _ loses  _ it either way.

His reflexes kick in when they try to catch it and when he fails, he gets up and his foot  _ steps on the bracelet. _

Two things.

One, the  _ crunch  _ it let out fucking  _ terrified  _ him.

_ Two,  _ he  _ broke the bracelet. _

All the panic settles in, just as he can sense his parents waking up. They always wake up when the sun is coming in this bright. At this point, his room’s completely lit up and he’s still  _ fucking frozen  _ in fear.

Shit. Shit. Fuck.

“Fuck, fuck --” he whispers under his breath, and removes his foot. Some piece of the bracelet kind of stuck to his heel, and he quickly flicks it off.

The bracelet isn’t in good shape. Of course.

But what he sees makes his heart stop, and he silently thinks to himself,  _ how can he forgive his mom? _

Because there’s a little red light among the messed up bracelet, and some chip that’s hanging by a wire that makes Steve damn near fucking  _ choke. _

His first instinct upon seeing this, of course, is taking his phone from the bed and frantically typing to Heather.

_ My mom was tryign to track me _

Autocorrect did not serve its function well. Not like it’s on, anyways.

_ And  _ that’s the least of his concerns, because the bracelet his mom gave him for Christmas was  _ a fucking tracking bracelet. _

There’s no tick, no green circle, nothing. Heather’s probably asleep, and Steve feels selfish but he really wishes she was  _ awake.  _ Like,  _ now. _

He takes a deep breath, calms himself. It doesn’t help that the cold air’s kind of back, but it’s different. It’s not like, it’s not  _ Nancy’s in danger and lied to me  _ air. It’s  _ my mom lied to me  _ air.

Then he hears footsteps from outside his room, and without thinking he kicks the bracelet’s remains under his bed and nearly hits his ankle in the process right before his door’s opened.

“Steve --” his mom looks relieved, but he knows she can’t say anything. She’d be telling him too much if she showed anything.

“Yeah?” Steve quirks a brow cluelessly, plays along.

She wraps her silky robe around her tighter, and looks down, “Help me with breakfast, dear.”

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Then she’s off and the door’s closed again.

_ So.  _ This is the game they’re playing.

Instead of coming down like he promised, Steve gets into his bathroom and showers. Taking his time, because he  _ can. _

He doesn’t bother too much with his phone vibrating by the sink, in fact, he focuses all his attention on a  _ very  _ thorough wash. His hair routine, but  _ more,  _ his usual body routine, but this time he’s lathering on lotion right after he’s dry. And then he’s shaving, and trying to do it as smoothly and perfectly and  _ slowly  _ as possible.

One quick glance tells him that it’s just Heather typing to him, and he tries to ignore the temptations setting.

Finally, he’s done with shaving and he’s doing a little face care routine as well. Oils and all that shit, things he’s never really bothered with in awhile. Stuff Robin introduced him to back then.

His hair’s dripping wet, so he blow dries it.

Then he’s brushing his teeth, doing a little lip routine and blowing kisses at his reflection and finger-coiling some of his favorite little curls and then he’s stretching.

And he knows, by now, his mom would be done with breakfast.

So he opens his phone to see Heather asking him if he needs help. All he types back is  _ I’ll be at the school library. _

He’s getting. Very involved. He doesn’t mind.

When he’s downstairs, he’s dressed all casual but he’s got Billy’s hoodie folded on his bed that he wants to wear later and there’s a permanent smile etched onto his face. Just to keep face, of course.

He takes a seat at the table and doesn’t look at his parents, just digs into his eggs and bacon.

“How was school yesterday?” His mom speaks first. As normally as possible.

Steve shrugs and chews slower,  _ feels  _ the tension weighing in the air with each agonizing second. He can tell they’ve stopped eating, he’s the only one making noise and he looks up to catch his mom’s eyes with a kind smile.

“It was good, hung out with some friends.”

“Who?” His dad butts in suddenly, and Steve grins wider. It’s  _ totally  _ his fucking dad, wow.

“You know,” Steve leans back and pushes his plate, “my best friends. Who tell me everything.”

Honestly, he’s not entirely sure how his parents are involved with his stalkers. It’s either they’re controlling, or they’re somehow very woven into this situation.

And really? Steve’s almost certain it’s the last bit. His dad never texted him as much before the other guy died. So something’s definitely going on that he’s not being let in on.

“Anyways. I’m gonna go.” He gets up and dusts himself, hates how they still look at him. They didn’t even ask about his nose.

“You’ve still got some eggs left,” his mom says. He ignores her.

As he goes up the stairs to get the hoodie from his bedroom and maybe bring his own backpack, he really,  _ really  _ hopes Billy’s gonna be there with Heather at the library.

But maybe he doesn’t know as much about Billy as he thinks he does.

_ Fucking Hargroves. _

  
  


“Steve!” Heather breathes, and pulls him into a hug happily. “I’m glad you got home safe. What happened?”

He lets her go, a little disappointed that Billy’s not there. “My mom gave me a bracelet on Christmas, I never wore it. Broke it today, found a chip.”

“That’s fucked,” her brows furrow and she takes a seat at the table, opposite to Steve. He uncrosses his legs to lean in a bit more.

“I think my dad.. like, hired -- a stalker?”

“Hired a stalker,” Heather repeats. And it’s. Okay, yeah, it  _ sounds stupid.  _ His own  _ dad.  _ But it also, like, kind of makes sense?

“Yeah, I know. It’s. Crazy. Believe me, I think it is too. But listen,” he runs his fingers through his soft and prettied up hair, “he  _ never  _ really texted me. But then, stalker number one dies, and suddenly, my dad’s all over me asking where I am and what am I doing.”

“Alright, kind of sus,” Heather agrees. She looks past Steve then back at him, “So your dad’s involved. And it’s not Billy.”

“Yes! It’s not Billy’s fault. By the way, where’s Billy?”

The question slips out quicker than he can stop it, but Heather grins and nods behind Steve.

He turns, and right there, Billy’s back in his leather jacket and jeans and he’s browsing books while talking to someone over the phone. He looks real nonchalant, dismissive and.

Ah.

When Billy turns his head a bit, not having noticed Steve, Steve sees sunglasses. And it’s kind of cute, kind of hot. Either way, he’s got the heat running through him again. And the butterflies.

“Cool, cool,” Steve mutters and looks back at Heather, who’s looking at him  _ far too suggestively  _ and he clears his throat, averting his gaze. “I just -- you know -- they didn’t say or ask anything, also. And..”

Something else. Think about  _ something else. _

Oh, yeah.  _ Nance. _

“Where’s -- how’s -- no, you don’t know her that well, shit,” he mutters under his breath, “Did you know about Nancy?”

Good question, badly executed.

“Nancy… not really. I don’t know everybody that Billy blackmails, just the ones he complains about or the ones that keep him too busy. Like you.”

“Like  _ me?”  _ Steve points to himself, eyes wide, “He  _ complains  _ about  _ me?” _

“Well --- no, I mean, I don’t mean it that way, dude. Oops. You’re the one that keeps him busy,” Heather rushes, laughing.

Busy.

Okay, that kind of makes him feel bad.

“Oh.. I don’t… mean to,” Steve mutters. The pout is inevitable.

“It’s not bad!” She raises her arms, moving them around, “It’s like… a good busy. You keep him distracted, and well, uh, he  _ does  _ complain about you when he’s around…”

_ That fucker. _

“... but like, it’s cute. He gets pouty like you are right now, and then he crosses his arms on my couch or bed and tucks his chin and starts muttering about things you’ve done. He’s never actually like,  _ insulted  _ you.”

“Oh..”

It’s quiet, and Steve’s face feels pink. His eyes are cotton and his heart just feels. Like. Filled. Inflating, really slowly, pumping in a nice way. Even as he looks down, at the table playing with Billy’s hoodie folded in his lap, he finds his lips tugging upwards imagining Billy grumbling about on the couch and being all… cute.

“Is he -- like…” he trails off, looking back at Heather. She raises a brow. “Are you two… ?”

“Oh,” she laughs again, smile wide as ever but she shakes her head all the while, “no, no, we’re… no. Best friends only. I can’t see him that way.”

“Oh, I see,” he chuckles. It sounds far too relieved and by the gleam in Heather’s eyes, she heard it too. But she says nothing.

“Peek-a-boo,” arms snake around Steve’s shoulders suddenly, a finger pointing his chin up and he finds himself looking into diamond eyes.

_ God, fuck  _ him.

Of course, Steve’s breath catches in his throat. Of course, Billy’s got his sunglasses off and his usual charming grin on his face. And of  _ course,  _ he smells strong and his arms are warm around Steve and his fingers are in contact with Steve’s skin and it’s driving Steve  _ crazy. _

Billy’s brow raises, his eyes are half lidded and glazed over and his pink tongue drags along his bottom lip with his grin. “Hey,” he whispers, voice low and gravelly. Only for Steve to hear.

“Hey,” Steve greets back. His voice cracks, ever so subtly, but then Billy’s grin widens and his heart’s just. All kinds of fucked. His tongue’s caught in a knot and he can’t say anything.

“Why were you pouting, cookie?” Billy asks. He’s speaking so deep and husky, seductive in a way Steve can’t name. And  _ fuck,  _ the  _ pet name.  _ That’s a new one.

“Nothing.” At this point, his neck is starting to ache from being craned back this far, but he doesn’t want to move or look away.

It doesn’t really matter though, because Billy removes his arms and gives Steve a pat, moving to sit next to him and put his sunglasses back on. He eyes the hoodie then Heather picks it up to stuff it in her bag.

“So, what happened?” He asks.

Heather’s got a raised brow, a weird knowing smile that kind of makes Steve fidget and squirm.

“Uh, I broke the bracelet my mom gave me, and found out it had a tracking chip.”

Billy tenses, crosses his arms on the table. “What bracelet?”

“A bracelet she gave me on Christmas. Don’t worry, I, never wore it. I buried it in my closet.”

“So, you were reminiscing or what?”

What?

“Uh,” Steve pauses, narrows his eyes, “No?”

“How’d you break the bracelet, then? Why was it out?”

Billy’s particularly curious today.

It’s understandable, though, because Steve was  _ attacked  _ yesterday and Billy’s probably a bit paranoid.

“I -- wanted to wear it.” There’s no point in hiding it, he thinks.

Both Heather and Billy look at him with furrowed brows, and he shrugs. “I - I dunno. Just. Felt bad that… if something were to  _ happen  _ to me, mom wouldn’t, like,  _ know.” _

“Know what?” Heather asks. Her voice is gentler now, hand stretched across the table to lay on Steve’s elbow.

“That I still care about her,” he says softly.

And it’s quiet.

“So she lied to you.” Billy states it like it’s a fact. And. It  _ is.  _ But.

Steve lowers his head and shrugs. “I guess.”

“It’s connected to his dad,” Heather says, “his dad’s been stalking him. With the guy that died.”

“So we fuck the big guy up, yeah?” Billy growls, sounds all too excited to do it. The realization seeps in and settles like a feather falling to the ground, that Billy’s always been aggressive. Doesn’t care about family, really.

“No, he’s my dad!” Steve hisses. He sighs defeatedly and rubs his eyes. “I’m so tired of this.”

A beat.

Followed by Billy getting up and pulling Steve up rather aggressively. “Hey -- what the fuck!” “We’re  _ going  _ to  _ talk.” _

Heather stands as well, but Billy easily pushes her back down in her chair and whispers something to her just out of reach of Steve. What the  _ fuck? _

“You’re coming with me,” Billy huffs and drags Steve behind him. His feet are quick, his steps reckless and rushed and it makes Steve want to hurl. He doesn’t know  _ why. _

They speed walk for a bit until they come to a very uncrowded part of the library, right between two bookshelves that are very disorganized. Expected of Hawkins.

“What the fuck, Billy?” Yeah. He has a right to feel a little violated.

Billy stops them and lets go of Steve, leaning against a shelf carelessly. “You wanna know about Nancy?”

He narrows his eyes suspiciously, but nods anyways. He’s close enough to Billy to hear him if he whispers, but far enough that he himself can’t be grabbed if he were to run.

_ “Say it,  _ Harrington.”

_ “Yes,  _ I’d like to fucking know, please,” he grits.

Billy hums a little and crosses his arms. “I caught her whore of a mother cheating. Knew little miss Drew wouldn’t like that, so I gave Karen a few choice words. Simple. Then I told Nancy because Karen couldn’t hold to her end of the deal. Bitch thought she could honestly get away with it,” he spits all too bored. It  _ pisses  _ Steve off. His low voice has never sounded so fucking condescending.

“She was convinced I wouldn’t do it, and I did. And then Nancy begged me to not tell her dad. Cried and all that shit,” he flicks some dust off his jacket, still not looking at Steve, “so. I told her to break up with you.”

Hold on.

Wait.

Oh.

Oh  _ no, no. _

“You  _ what?”  _ Steve croaks, angry as all fucking  _ hell. _

Billy  _ still  _ won’t look at him. Honestly, good for him. He wouldn’t be able to handle the  _ disgust. _

“Shit was clear she didn’t  _ actually  _ like you, Harrington, okay? I made her dump the bucket early before it got messy. I was fucking  _ looking out for you.” _

“No, fuck  _ ‘looking out for me’,  _ you don’t know  _ shit  _ about  _ her  _ just as she doesn’t know  _ shit about you!  _ What the fuck, Hargrove? What made you think she  _ didn’t like me?  _ That’s fucked up! Seriously, I -- I can’t fucking believe what I’m hearing. I can’t believe this. I don’t. This is bullshit.”

“Do you want me to say  _ sorry,  _ baby? That’s not the fucking point. Point is, family is  _ bullshit.  _ Maxine ratted me out more times than I can count, Nancy’s mom threw all her responsibilities down to that little prude, and your dad and mom  _ lied to you  _ and didn’t raise you right.  _ This  _ isn’t bullshit.  _ Family  _ is.”

“Don’t fucking  _ family  _ me,  _ Hargrove.  _ You’re an asshole. You don’t know  _ shit.” _

_ “Steve --” _ “Fuck you!” And before Steve can do anything, Billy’s fist raises and connects with his jaw.

Or. Well. It would’ve.

But it hovers, right by his cheek, and Billy looks  _ pissed.  _ Angry. Tired. He’s got no right to be, but he  _ is.  _ But what hurts even more, is his fist is shaking. And it’s so close.

“Punch me,” Steve orders.

Billy’s nostrils flare, he looks him dead in the eye and. And he won’t do it.

So.

“Faggot.”

And Steve turns, and the word sounded wrong on his tongue and twisted his lungs but right as he’s turning to leave, he’s  _ pulled _ back and then Billy’s swinging.

And it hurts. Like  _ shit. _

There it is.

Steve rubs his cheek weakly, feeling the warmth and the sting and the bruise and scoffing. “Of course you would.”

_ Of course  _ Billy would.

Because he’s just trouble. And careless. And stupid. And wrong. And he’s  _ dirty. _

He doesn’t even look at Billy, doesn’t want to. Instead, he runs his tongue along his upper teeth and spits, “Fuck you.”

Just like last time.

And then, he walks off, and he doesn’t need to see Billy. He doesn’t need to look back. He doesn’t need to go to  _ Heather,  _ who’s looking at him all concerned and scared, who’s asking him why he’s touching his cheek and why he’s crying. He doesn’t.  _ Need  _ to.

It’s quiet this early in the morning, nobody’s really around that Steve recognizes but he can see some of Carol’s friends joking among themselves near some candy store. He thinks, for a moment, he could take advantage of that. Do things. Go all  _ Steve.  _ Wink at them, smile at whoever’s out of the conversation and get touchy in the right kind of way.

They always liked the  _ king. _

He never really liked his own name anyways.

He does nothing though. They don’t notice him, and he doesn’t, he doesn’t  _ want  _ to be noticed. Instead he gets in his car and turns on the ignition, slams the door and buries his face in his hands, elbows on the wheel.

Trouble.

Dirty.

Bad.

Billy’s a lie.  _ Billy Hargrove  _ is the truth.

Steve’s phone vibrates in his pocket, he wipes the wetness away from his eyes and picks it up. There’s just a text.

_ im sorry _

Honestly, it’s probably Heather who wrote that for Billy.

But what does Steve know? He knows nothing.

Billy’s a liar, he’s fake and he’s not real. He’s just completely fabricated. And Heather’s probably all part of it. And Robin’s probably a victim, too. She’s said it herself.

She told Steve that she fell victim to a mistake.

Even though it was said so dreamily, even though she sang praise to Heather and said it was the  _ best mistake,  _ Heather never looked at her the same. Not exactly. That’s what Robin said.

So.

Heather might not be that different from Billy.

Holloway may not be that different from Hargrove.

But still, Steve’s phone rings and he holds it up to his tear stricken face. Stares at it blankly. No photo, just a number he’s never really saved. Billy’s number.

Of course, Steve’s a fool. His heart aches. He hurts, and feels empty but he’s an  _ idiot.  _ He’s so, so stupid. He’s a qualified dumbass, right? So he’s justified.

Not really, but he’d like to believe he is. Nobody ever really called him  _ smart  _ to begin with.

He chokes on a sob, catches whatever word was gonna leave his mouth between his teeth, buries his face in his arms helplessly.

He really loved Nancy.

Really. Really did.

She was awesome. How could he not?

She made him smile, danced with him and was  _ different.  _ She liked reading, didn’t take all his jokes seriously and never talked shit about anyone. She stood up for what was right, and when they kissed, she would sigh happily sometimes. He’s never sighed happily after a kiss, but he’s sighed happily after seeing her.

He never got a genuine laugh out of her at his jokes.

It was probably because he wasn’t a good person. Maybe that hasn’t changed.

Then, as he thinks about how she felt in his arms, how they danced around the room together and how she said  _ I love you  _ and how he got to say it back, how he had nothing to hide and everything to give, he realizes he isn’t breathing.

Wow.

His face is wet, buried into the sleeves of his shirt that are probably soaked through now. He exhales, slowly, but it’s all too shaky. It stutters, and he inhales sharply instead. Completely out of his control. His breathing is completely unstable, it hurts his chest and. It just. It all  _ hurts. _

Nobody ever really cared about  _ Steve. _

_ Tap, tap _

Tapping comes from the window to his left, and he sluggishly raises his head to let his left eye peek. There, the familiar tuft of blonde hair’s waiting. His jacket’s being tugged tight around himself, and he looks distressed. He looks  _ guilty. _

Of course, the sight makes Steve’s heart skip even while it sinks. Like a pebble being tossed and bounced on the river before it finally drops.

Reluctantly, he lowers the window and closes his eyes, moves his face back into his arms. “What do you want?” He asks brokenly, and his voice wavers and comes out a little muffled.

“I’m sorry,” Hargrove says.

“No you aren’t.” He still feels the sting on his cheek. It’s spread throughout his face at this point, leaves a dull ache.

“I  _ am.” _

“What for?” 

“Can you come out, for just a sec?”

Of course, he’s avoiding it. He doesn’t  _ know  _ what he’s saying sorry for. Steve doubts Hargrove’s ever known meaning what he says if it’s not a threat.

“No,” Steve shakes his head and tightens his grip on the wheel, thinks maybe he could just  _ drive off  _ right now.

He doesn’t, of course. Why would he?

There are so many reasons he should.

“I just need… I need you to come out. Okay? Please?”

His voice is- quiet. It’s careful. Slow.

So Steve ruffles his soft hair, rubs his eyes and sits up sighing. He doesn’t look, he just opens his door and places one foot on the ground.

And that’s all it takes.

Because the moment he’s just under halfway out of the car, Hargrove pulls him fully out and lets him topple into his arms. And. It’s.

_ Billy’s  _ arms wrapping around him, holding him tight and not letting him go. Even as Steve squirms, even though he can’t process it quick enough to even say anything.

“Billy…” Steve’s voice is high, soft, scared.

“I’m sorry,” Billy repeats. And there’s no Heather around.

“What are you sorry for?” His voice shakes, he wants to hear it so that he has a reason to finally wrap himself around Billy. It feels so right, but it’s not enough. He can feel his heart pick up already. The tears are coming back, rolling down his bruised cheek.

“Being me,”

A pause.

“hurting you.”

Steve’s shoulders shake with his sudden sob and he wraps his arms tightly around Billy, buries his face in those golden curls and cries.

He doesn’t know why it hurts, so much. Doesn’t know why he’s taking this or why Billy’s offering it. He doesn’t  _ know anything.  _ But. He knows, he knows that Billy cares. There’s  _ no way  _ he doesn’t. And he knows that Billy doesn’t want to be like this. And he  _ knows. _

He _ knows  _ he’s a fool. And he _ loves Billy. _

“I’m  _ sorry,” _ Billy says  _ again. _

“I’m sorry,” again.

And he mutters it again, in Steve’s hair.

And then another time, in Steve’s neck.

And then it’s quiet, save for Steve’s sobbing, but he can hear it floating in the air still.

_ I’m sorry. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tumblr } nancywrote
> 
> first update in awhile!! been so busy i haven't been able to continue but i managed to persevere today :) it may not be the best chapter rn but it's a little bit of a break chapter, ig?? hope you enjoyed! thank you for reading/sticking with me so far!! leave a comment and if you have any prompts, send 'em over to my tumblr <333 thank you!!


	5. new beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After the library, Steve's dad decided it was time to put his foot down and sentenced Steve to his room for an indefinite amount of time. He's bored, and things are starting to pile onto Billy's plate. Too many.

Smoke hangs heavy in the air, weighing on the room with gray and gliding out the open window into the dirty night sky in copious, thick amounts. The curtains are red, fancy and torn at the bottom, walls dark and tattered with posters leading into the pile of bags abandoned in the corner.

A generous amount of money sits in a suitcase left open on the vanity, nearly tipping off if not for the wooden chair adding extra support. By the windowsill, a man clothed in red and black, sits the only source of heat.

The door creaks open.

“Billy,” a girl speaks.

Billy looks at his sister distastefully, tosses his cig on the floor and stomps it out. His foot planting itself on the ground makes a loud noise that should intimidate anyone, especially combined with how his eyes, once a deep blue, switch into a cloudy sky-gray with no shine or emotion at all.

“Tell him I’m not home,” he says with neglect.

“He saw your car.”

Scoffing, the dirty blonde rolls up his red sleeves and picks up his leather jacket from besides him, “I’m at Holloway’s.”

The redhead stretches her lips and runs her finger along the dirty doorframe, looking away. “You know he’ll come up here?”

“He never checks,” Billy huffs as he slips into his jacket, “and I’ll be gone when he does anyways.”

“What about the money?” She glances at the suitcase.

“He can take it. It’s not all of it.”

“Okay,” she grimaces and flicks the dust off her fingers. “What if he…?” she trails off.

Billy tenses, lets his eyes flit around the room and stops at his sister’s bruised knuckles. Fresh. “Don’t fight back, for one. Lock yourself in here, call me. Got it?”

She’s quiet, and Billy knows by how pale she’s gotten she doesn’t believe him.

_ “Maxine!”  _ a loud, angry voice shouts sharply from downstairs. Billy’s brows come down into a knot and he ruffles around in his pocket to find something.

“He’s... not here!” Maxine shouts back hesitantly, looking directly at Billy.

“If it doesn’t work,” Billy starts and throws his room keys at her, “find me and kick my ass.”

She catches them and swallows thickly. “I won’t stop there, Billy.”

“I know.”

And he jumps out the window as footsteps come closer.

  
  


“Where have you been the past like,  _ forever?”  _ Tommy asks on the other end of the line, mouth full of something.

Steve cringes with an endeared smile, “It’s only been a  _ month,  _ Tommy. My dad’s locked me up good. I’ve been quarantined.”

_ “Why?” _

He’s holding the phone up between his ear and his shoulder, rinsing his hands free of soap with his glasses nearly falling off. “I think my dad’s stalking me, dude. It’s crazy how much shit has happened with Billy.”

“You were  _ still  _ getting involved with Billy?”

“I mean, were you?”

It’s quiet as Steve dries his hands and picks his phone back up, before Tommy gasps stupidly, “Oh my  _ god,  _ I haven’t been called up until you missed classes! What the fuck!”

Steve snorts and pushes his glasses up his nose, “Yup,” he pops the p and tosses the towel back, leaving his bathroom. “Speaking of, what’s Billy been making you do? How’s Billy been?”

“Uh, firstly, jack shit, he’s just been telling me to babysit his sister or give bags around.  _ Secondly,”  _ Tommy’s voice drops an octave, drawing out the last word suggestively, “what do you mean  _ how’s  _ Billy been? Is this in context of like, hoping he’s been doing shit because fuck him?”

“I just mean  _ how he’s been.  _ What’s he been up to and all that jazz,” Steve states. He lets his back fall on his mattress, “we called a few times when I finally had the guts to save his number. But he’s been so busy I’m stuck with Heather, Robin, and the occasional check in from Nancy. And let me tell you, girls do  _ not  _ fuck around with questions.”

“Yeah, okay, that’d be fine and all to answer, if you didn’t sound fucking head over heels for him,” Tommy says jokingly.

That should probably be funny, but, honestly.

Steve fucking  _ coughs.  _ Wheezes his lungs out and plays it off as a stupid laugh, “Yeah, right,” he chokes around dry air and hastily chugs down the warm glass of water next to his bed. “Never in a million years. Hargrove.”

Tommy laughs on the other line, “Yeah. He’s been okay, I think. Just as distant and disregarding as ever, still gets into fights and trouble and shit. Billy Hargrove stuff.”

Billy Hargrove stuff.

“Good way to put it. Have people been talking?” Steve asks while playing with his soft hair, thinking. About, well, what people are saying of course. Not at all about  _ Billy Hargrove stuff. _

“About Billy? Always and never at the same time. You? Some girl was claiming you were dead in class, Carol chewed her out.”

“Glad to know I still have  _ Carol  _ on my side,” he grimaces.

“I mean, better than nothing. People haven’t said shit since, but it’s Carol, so it doesn’t mean they  _ aren’t.” _

Steve finds himself agreeing with that. It’s true, Carol and the other popular kids can efficiently shut people up, make them stop saying shit or stop doing shit, but it’s not  _ permanent.  _ Those kids just stop doing it in  _ front  _ of her and the rest. It still works, because people still fear that she’ll find out somehow, but, it’s definitely no  _ Billy. _

If it were Billy, those kids wouldn’t even so much as  _ breathe  _ in Steve’s direction.

“Dude, quarantine’s boring,” he says, sitting up. Tommy makes a noise of agreement through the phone. “You’re not even locked up, dude.”

“Yeah, but, I’m a weak boy, Stevie. I’ve been locked up for four days before because of some small cold. Weak boy, fragile mom,” Tommy clarifies. Steve can  _ hear  _ the pout in his voice.

“Well, I’ve gotta go. Carol’s coming over and my phone’s gotta charge. Get well soon, coward,” Tommy huffs mockingly, and Steve snorts.

“Yeah, okay, see ya,  _ weak boy,”  _ he retorts before ending the call.

Finally, he was alone.

Well, he wouldn’t say  _ finally.  _ He dreads being alone, right now. Being grounded for over a month does that to people. He misses Nancy and Jonathan, his job and Robin, the city and just a little, Billy. Steve’s been looking at the same plain blue ceiling painted with glow in the dark stars for  _ weeks,  _ and he’s counted all of them enough that he removed some and scattered them around his room to make it more challenging anytime he was to count them.

Groaning, he buries his face in his soft pillow and  _ hates  _ how used to the feeling he is. He  _ loves  _ his bed, he’s fucking married to it, and yet.

“Fuck everything,” he mutters into the silk and squeezes his eyes shut. What to  _ do. _

Definitely not his homework, which he has a  _ lot  _ of. Nancy will help him anyways.

After a few minutes, Steve raises his head and locks his eyes back on his neglected phone. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

It’s a quick decision, to take it and frantically enter Billy’s number. Very impulsive. Maybe.

But, it’s not that late in the day, he’d have class. Tommy and Carol were skipping, sure, but that doesn’t mean  _ everybody else  _ would. Billy just kind of roams classes at his own pace, it’s hard to tell when he’s going to class or not. All depends on his mood.

But, if Billy’s skipping, chances are he has something  _ important  _ and Steve shouldn’t interrupt.

“Ughh,” Steve groans to himself and lets his phone slip from his grasp. Maybe his homework.

Then, as quickly as he blinks, he realizes his phone’s making  _ noise.  _ And he’s  _ calling Billy. _

Shit, shit.

In a panic, he grabs it again and quickly cancels out, curses his fingers out with a red, flushed face and takes deep breaths. Maybe it was pathetic that he called, or maybe, the fact that he cancelled, makes it even  _ more  _ pathetic and Billy’s gonna  _ judge him for it. _

God, isolation’s getting to his head. Steve’s never usually  _ this  _ paranoid about somebody.

Just as quickly as he’s picked up his phone, he drops it again but more carefully onto the sheets. It’s quiet again.

He’s heating up.

The room’s cold and desolate, with just Steve. And outside, it’s  _ colder. _

Air conditioning’s on and blows on the edges of his pictures on the walls, lets his hair fly gently off his forehead and prickles his skin just right. It’s a soft breeze, but his door is closed and it continues to get colder in the room. His sheets are freezing.

But Steve’s not.

_ Oh. _

There’s a gentle hum coming from outside his window, the sounds of the wind hitting the trees and all the leaves bristling against one another and brushing the glass. It’s all white noise, and even though he’s not out there, he takes it in. He swallows it up and breathes it all in through his nose, closes his eyes and pretends the AC is just pure  _ outside. _

Carefully, in his dazed state, Steve extends his arms and legs and splays out like a starfish on the bed, not caring about if his toes poke out a little off the edge. He’s outside, that’s where he is. Lying on grass, or a soft picnic blanket. Sinking.

His floor is carpet, fluffy, and he thinks maybe he could change it up a little. So he does.

He opens his eyes and lifts his weightless body off the bed, rolls onto the floor clumsily and splays out again with what space he has. It’s not as cold, but it’s getting there because the AC is blowing into his body more.

And then, his eyes screw shut and there’s red. And he’s breathing, in, out, in, out. And he’s outside.

Sinking into the grass, brushing against his bare arms and thighs, wind messing his hair up but him not caring. Sinking. Cold.

Losing control of his body, feeling himself lift with the cool breeze and floating on nothing. Soft, and cold, and  _ sweet,  _ like mochi. Oh, delicious mochi.

Floating in bliss and freedom, and opening his mouth to breathe out. In through the nose, out the mouth. In, out.

Cold air, filling his lungs and his heart. His heart. Filling.

Filling with water, and sinking. Sinking back into the grass but not stopping at the surface. Sinking deeper, cold air going warm. Warm, suffocating, and  _ hot. _

And, that’s. Not the outside anymore.

It is, but it’s not  _ the  _ outside.

He stops breathing, thinks he should open his eyes and move, but his limbs feel tingly and he feels the air but he doesn’t  _ want it.  _ Because now he can see yellow. Golden.

Like the sun, but.

Fuck.

It’s all  _ Billy. _

Suffocating him, drowning him, filling his lungs, filling  _ him. _

Oh, Jesus.

Steve forces his eyes open, sits up in a cold sweat and feels all melted. All gooey and hot and. The AC should be off.

So quickly, he stands up, still fizzling, and turns off the AC. He’s hot, real hot, and his face feels like it’s stinging. His cheeks especially.

Then he feels himself drop to his bed and his thighs come into contact with the cool sheets, his arms lifted above and behind his head to touch the cold and fluffy pillows. It feels like  _ steam,  _ with how easily he warms them up.

His heart’s racing quietly, hammering against his chest and clogging up his throat.

This isn’t so new, but it is as well. The feeling of being near Billy.

It just never got him so  _ hot  _ and  _ fizzled  _ like this.

“Jesus…” he mumbles, slurred, to the cooling air. And he lifts one hand from behind his head to travel down his torso and stop right at his waist. He shouldn’t.

But, he’s bored, and hard, and.

“Fuck,” Steve croaks when his fingers brush against his half-chub. It’s getting harder, and he can’t stop himself. He doesn’t even realize he was on the floor for half an hour until he’s got his hand down his boxers, reaching for his member shyly.

Why should he be  _ shy,  _ now of all times?

_ God. _

He just blames it on isolation.

And his fingers wrap around himself, relieving him so much his mouth opens in a torn out gasp. He’s so  _ heated.  _ So he pumps once, thumbs at the tip teasingly. Fuck. It feels  _ gratifying,  _ just the one touch.

And just like that, he twists his other arm out from behind his neck and pulls down his boxers in a rush. He’s a fucking  _ mess  _ but he keeps pumping at his dick, and it bounces free from its confines to lightly smack his stomach. A light moan escapes his lips, and he bites them down.

He uses his free hand to run along his thighs and tangle in his hair, tug at his roots until they  _ pull.  _ “Fuck,” he manages, swallows down any other string of moans threatening to bubble out of his throat as he moves his thumb. Jesus, it’s so relieving.

He plays with himself for a while, already so close to the edge so fast and then. And  _ then. _

Of course.

His phone rings.

A choked gasp escapes him, and he jolts in place. Quickly, with the hand not touching himself, he picks it up to find Billy’s contact flashing before him. A  _ call. _

Oh, fuck, it’s past three.

And Steve genuinely considers leaving it, not answering and continuing. But.

It’s not every day that Billy calls.

Proudly wearing the title of  _ idiot  _ over his head, Steve swipes to accept and presses it against his ear, biting his bottom lip bashfully. “Yo.”

“You called, baby?” Billy’s voice all but  _ purrs  _ into Steve’s ear, and his eyes roll the  _ fuck  _ back in his head. Jesus  _ Christ. _

“A-ah, was, uh, an accident,” Steve answers weakly, licking his lip. Why is he  _ still  _ hard? And  _ why  _ hasn’t he stopped rubbing?

“Awh, and here I thought you wanted to talk. I was in class.”

Because Billy’s got the voice of a devil.

“Well,” Steve breathes, frowning at his own wit and persistence. He should  _ stop.  _ “I don’t mind talking. It’s been a bit.”

Billy chuckles in his ear, a low one that sends Steve  _ over the fucking clouds.  _ His hips thrust into his hands involuntarily, and he has to  _ fight  _ to stop himself from squealing then. It’s just. So  _ hard. _

“Right.” There’s sounds of shuffling on the other end, sounds like Billy’s in his car smoking. “What’re you doing?” Billy asks, husky.

And shit, for a moment Steve’s heart drops, because he thinks he’s been  _ caught.  _ Feels like Billy’s right there, staring at him all angry and disgusted.

But, Billy sounded so  _ right.  _ And surely, Billy wouldn’t be opposed to at least a one-and-done thing, right? Oh, Steve’s  _ losing it.  _ He’s desperate, and he knows it by how his hands start moving on his dick quicker, sending sensations running up and down his body. He’s so fucking  _ sensitive  _ with Billy’s voice.

“I, uh,” Steve clears his throat, adjusts the phone to quickly take a low breath away from the mic, “Nothing. Kind of bored. You?”

Far fucking from it.

“Well, I’m uh, getting undressed --”

_ “What?” _

His heart  _ throws itself out the window  _ and his hand pauses, squeezing his member.

Billy laughs, “I’m  _ kidding,  _ bambi. I’m in my car, just outside of school.”

His voice is less deep now, more casual and comforting and it’s making Steve smile all giddy. He’s not getting any softer though.

“How was school?” Steve asks, licking his lips again. Hoping Billy will go off on a ramble, or talk as much as a Hargrove is capable of so Steve can… deal with himself.

“Boring, the usual,” Billy starts, and Steve continues moving his fingers up and down his dick slowly, trying to reach the edge yet again, “I had class with Jonathan, he sat next to me instead of his usual buddies. Apparently they were trying to convince him to do drugs, so. I didn’t do anything, don’t worry, I…”

As Billy starts to go into a little ramble about his day, Steve lets his phone go by his ear to play with his sensitive, budding nipple through the fabric of his shirt. It sends sparks of electricity running down his core, letting heat pool at his groin even more. Jesus,  _ fuck,  _ it feels sinfully good and it’s so  _ rotten  _ that Billy’s  _ right  _ there completely clueless.

“Apparently, some chick thought I was cheating on the English assignment ‘cause I got better grades than her.”

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Steve comments in a chuckle, and closes his eyes. He’s sinking.

“Yeah, no kidding,” Billy snorts and continues to talk about the girl, a name Steve doesn’t quite catch as he pinches his nipple and squeezes his dick. Fuck, he’s so close.

Billy’s voice is so low and clear in his ear, complaining and laughing at random shit he’s saying to himself completely unaware, and Steve knows he should  _ stop  _ but it feels so good and Billy’s just. The words don’t match, but the  _ tone  _ gets him kicking.  _ Billy  _ gets him choking.

Jesus, if Billy would, Steve would let him.

Would Billy be gentle?

Fuck into him slow, grind his hips deep with Steve a jumbled mess beneath him, whisper praises and smother Steve with kisses?

Or, lord forbid, would he be  _ rough? _

Just as rough as he’s talking right now, double the swearing. Saying all the right words, jacking himself off and telling Steve he can’t come yet, he’s not allowed unless  _ he  _ says so.

And then, as Steve’s pumping, breathing labored and hips starting to shake, knees coming up just as Billy’s going on and  _ on,  _ Billy huffs.

“Are you even listening, bambi,” he growls and his voice drops several octaves suggestively and _ threateningly, _ shooting up Steve’s spine, “or are you just getting off to the sound of my voice right now?”

And Steve comes undone.

He quickly hits mute, grateful that Billy can’t see it, and  _ moans.  _ Full on  _ chokes  _ Billy’s name out into the void, coming out like a cry in heat as his back arches and his cum splatters on his shirt. It’s fucking  _ ecstacy,  _ he rides out his explosion for a few seconds and tries to remember how to breathe, eyes rolled all the way back to the back of his head and all he can think of is  _ fuck,  _ he  _ knows,  _ and that is  _ so fucking hot. _

“Jesus,” he mutters, “Jesus, Jesus, holy fucking shit --” but he keeps going, keeps his hand going up and down his dick until he’s drained of all his milk, and he throws himself to his side and curls up breathless. That. Was a good fucking climax. He clears his throat.

Hastily, he unmutes himself and ruffles his sheets loudly, “Sorry,” because he  _ knows  _ Billy doesn’t know, because Billy was  _ definitely  _ joking by how he laughed all through Steve’s mind-blowing nut cluelessly, “I was falling asleep.”

“Am I  _ that  _ boring to you, Harrington?” Billy says, pout shining through as strongly as Tommy’s.

Steve laughs stupidly, not sure at what exactly, and runs his clean hand through his hair. “Sorry I have to be the bearer of bad news, Billy,” he jokes and gets up. His head feels heavy as he manages to walk into the bathroom with his phone in hand, but he turns on the sink nonetheless and starts washing his hands again.

Billy chuckles, “Yeah, well. I’m bored too. Wanna hang out?”

“I can’t, I’m grounded, dude.” Steve dries off his hands and removes his sticky shirt, tossing it into the bathtub to clean later knowing his mom wouldn’t look there. Thank God. It’s his nice little stash corner.

“I know,” Billy drawls, “but I can come over.”

“You can’t. They aren’t letting anybody visit,” Steve says, leaving the bathroom to scour through his closet for a comfier shirt. He turns his AC back on.

“They won’t know, I’ll sneak in.”

When Steve’s got a new, bigger shirt on coming down to his thigh, that rush of guilt overtakes him and he feels his face heat up embarrassed.  _ Fuck.  _ “You’ll hate me,” he mutters to himself, not realizing he’s said it aloud until Billy scoffs.

“I don’t care what you look like, what your room is, can’t be any worse than me and mine. I’m coming over.”

“What -- Billy, no --”

But the call’s ended.

Steve grimaces, looks at his sweat-stained sheets and remembers  _ Billy won’t be long. _

He shakes away his post-orgasm shame to tidy up his bedroom best he can. Really, all he does is throw his leftover clothes in the closet and change the sheets fast, running from his room to the laundry room pretty quickly. His mom’s not even awake, his dad’s at work and he probably wouldn’t get caught if he was to sneak out.

But, he’d get found  _ out  _ anyways.

Then, after he’s done, he sits cross-legged on his bed with his window unlocked and rolled up, and fidgets with his fuzzy socks. Maybe Billy won’t come.

A few minutes pass, up to five at most, and there’s still no sign of Billy, and Steve’s convinced fully that he  _ won’t  _ come until he hears clattering. The clattering of the ladder he left at his window.

Quickly, Steve runs over and peeks out only to nearly bump heads with the man himself, Billy Hargrove. He tries to hide the growing smile on his face.  _ Someone else.  _ Happiness and giddiness fill him all at once.

Billy grins, “Hey, handsome,” and rakes his eyes over Steve’s form before swinging his leg over the sill and climbing into his room. Steve snorts and backs away respectfully, double checking that his own door is locked should his mom wake up or his dad come home early.

“Why are you here?” Steve asks while resitting himself on the bed, watching Billy check himself out in the mirror.

“Haven’t seen you in forever,” he answers before finally locking eyes with Steve. “Heather misses you.”

_ Heather misses you. _

It’s too conspicuously said to be real. Steve talks with her sometimes, he knows she’s more concerned with her job and Billy than Steve. She may  _ worry,  _ but she doesn’t  _ miss.  _ Not when she knows Steve will be back. It’s just her thing. She just knows things.

So, it’s…

_ I miss you. _

A smile tugs at Steve’s lips, he nods and looks down to play with the sheets between his fingers. “I miss her too.”  _ You. _

The bed makes a soft creaking noise when Billy plops himself down behind Steve, draping his back across the mattress with his jacket still on and still smelling of smoke. Steve turns, stares at Billy and leans back as well to lie right next to him on their backs.

“You ever met my sister?” Billy asks, looking at the stars on the ceiling. It’s almost adoring, his tone. There’s a shine in his eye, not unlike a kick in one’s step, as he says her name, “Maxine.”

“Didn’t know you had one,” Steve says, eyes pulled in by Billy’s face. He just can’t look away.

“She’s a fighter, that one,” Hargrove continues, “even if it may not work, she’s always willing to try. Never gives up. Got long red hair, too, and shit was down to her waist when she was eleven. Then she cut it real short to spite Susan.”

“Susan?”

“Step-mom,” he answers.

Oh.

Hold  _ on. _

Something like recognition flashes in Steve’s eyes and he sits up. Billy looks him in the eye with curiosity.

“Maxine.. Mayfield?” Steve questions, jaw slack.

“You know her?”

“Friend of a friend.”

_ It makes so much sense. _

Billy hums, and just when it looks like he’s about to move, Steve quickly lies back down tense and relaxes when Billy does.

“Max always complained about having to move around.”

It’s quiet for a moment, then Billy’s looking at Steve now instead of the ceiling.

“Yeah,” he sighs, and looks back up, “she never liked the city life.”

“I didn’t know you had… you know.” Steve bites the inside of his cheek, and clasps his hands over his stomach.  _ A sister you cared about. _

“Yeah,” Billy repeats with a shrug. “Yeah. I didn’t think I would, either.”

A pause.

Steve shuffles to move to his side and face Billy fully, and though Billy’s not looking at him, he can see those blue eyes crinkle with amusement. “How’s business been?”

“Oh, just dandy,” Billy says with a fake smile.

Steve scoffs and pokes at Billy’s jacket, “You?”

“Dandelions. All put together ‘till someone blows me, hopefully.”

“Oh my god,” Steve snorts and  _ finally  _ Billy turns to his side to face him as well. They’re so  _ close  _ and Billy smells like fucking  _ smoke.  _ “I’m sure you’ve got a line of ladies waiting to do just that.”

That comment does something.

Because the light in Billy’s eyes all but  _ leaves,  _ and now his gorgeous smile has twisted into a smaller frown. For a moment, Steve feels like his world’s empty again. Like he’s fucked up everything.

“Anything happen with Wheeler and the stalker?” Billy asks coldly. It’s  _ always  _ business. He licks the corner of his lips and looks past Steve.

Steve’s nostrils flare, and he hums. “No, I’ve been locked up in this shithole.” And he moves to his back, facing away from Billy. It doesn’t matter, he convinces himself.

“Shithole? You’ve got a whole mansion under your belt.”

“My  _ dad’s  _ belt. Not mine. They’ll kick me out the moment I get a stable enough income to move far, far away.”

“Your dad hired a stalker, possibly an assassin, but he could really just kill you if he wanted to. He’s definitely not  _ bad,”  _ Billy says. It sounds like he’s gritting his teeth, lying through them or trying to convince himself that. It sounds like Billy doesn’t believe it. Not that  _ Steve’s  _ dad isn’t bad, but that…

That what, exactly?

“I wanna get out of this place anyways. I fucking hate Hawkins, love the city.”

“With all the gay bars?” Billy states offhandedly like it  _ doesn’t  _ make Steve flinch right then.

“With all the corners and  _ lights,”  _ Steve spits. “I’ll be closer to my workplace, too.”

“You pissed at me or something?” Billy suddenly asks, and  _ somehow  _ that makes Steve feel like he’s trekking on thin ice. Like  _ he’s  _ the one who messed up. And that just makes him more irritated.

“Why would I  _ ever  _ be pissed at the great Billy Hargrove, who blackmails and extorts every student that so much as blinks in his axis?” And, oh, Steve’s voice raises in volume with that, and he  _ clamps  _ his teeth down on his tongue to stop. He has to  _ stop. _

Because suddenly, Billy’s looking  _ right  _ at Steve with  _ rage,  _ and he doesn’t have to look back to find those striking blue eyes glaring into his being. He doesn’t have to see the threats, he can already feel them. He’s being gripped by it, practically.

_ “Bambi,”  _ Billy drawls, low and deep and  _ warning, teasing,  _ “you looked in the bag?”

There’s blood being drawn from Steve’s tongue, swishing around in his mouth, and it stings but it doesn’t feel like much compared to how his heart squeezes  _ tight.  _ With hurt, with anger, with  _ fear.  _ “I --” he breathes through his nose, “There wasn’t just money in it.”

_ It was heavy. _

_ It made noise. _

Then, Billy sits straight up and pulls Steve by the collar up with him. They’re sitting, forced to face each other, and Billy’s  _ seething.  _ He doesn’t just smell like smoke, Steve realizes. Not this close. He smells like whiskey. “What did I tell you?” He growls.

Steve’s scared.

“What was in it, Billy?” Steve asks, swallows down the lump in his throat. Fights the anger bubbling in him, the urge to punch. Would Billy take it? Or would he hurt him, like he did at the library?

“I told you  _ not to open it,”  _ Billy’s fingers tighten in the shirt, pulling Steve in closer. “Did  _ Hagan  _ know?”

He can’t. He can’t tell Billy that. If he does, he’ll hurt Tommy.  _ God, he fucked up. _

Steve inhales, tries to ignore the suffocating feeling of Billy’s eyes on him in the wrong way, “No,” he grits.

And just like that, Billy  _ shoves  _ Steve back and gets on his feet. “You just don’t fucking  _ listen,  _ do you? All you do is run that pretty fucking mouth of yours.”

Steve can’t think on that, can’t work off that, can’t  _ respond  _ because now Billy’s got his phone and he’s  _ losing his shit.  _ “You don’t know my passcode,” he says, gets up despite it. He  _ doesn’t  _ know his passcode.

“Yeah, try me,” Billy shoves Steve back onto the bed and taps some things into his phone, and it  _ freaks him out  _ how experienced those fingers look. How he’s got his thumb in a familiar spot.

“Give me my fucking phone back --” Steve gets back up and tries to push past Billy’s hand to grab for his phone, but Billy’s still  _ tapping  _ and he  _ sees  _ from just a glimpse that he’s  _ in  _ and he loses all kinds of breathing. Because that’s  _ his phone,  _ he’s got  _ shit  _ there, and.

“Sit the  _ fuck  _ down, Harrington,” Billy spits back and hooks his foot around Steve’s bare ankle, trips him back onto the bed easily. Steve scrambles, freaked out and reaches back up for Billy’s hand. “Billy, this isn’t funny, give it  _ back,”  _ he cries pathetically only to get pushed back onto the bed. Billy’s being too gentle, it’s too easy, and.

“Stop,” Billy says when Steve’s back up, throwing himself at Billy and scratching at his raised arms trying to reach for his phone.  _ “Steve,  _ stop.”

And when Steve doesn’t listen, they’re too far from the bed. And Steve  _ slaps  _ Billy, manages to grab his phone in that moment of weakness.

_ “ _ I fucking  _ warned you.” _

Then, Billy grabs his head and throws it at the edge of his bedside table.

And the back of Steve’s head hits his lamp, his whole body clattering to the ground with his glasses. And his phone drops, cracks.

Billy stands, eyes wide, face red. Breathing. Scared.

Steve sits, on the ground, head aching, tongue bleeding. Choking up. Lost.

“I…” Billy starts, nostrils flared. He swallows down something. Something to  _ say. _

Steve stares. “Get out,” he says.

“I deleted my contact. And Heather’s,” Billy manages, frozen. “We’re changing numbers. Don’t…” he inhales, looks anywhere  _ but  _ Steve, “Don’t look for us.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

And just like that.

Billy frowns, mouth open to say something, but Steve hardens and shouts,  _ “Fuck off!” _

He’s never quite yelled like that before.

But it does the trick, because Billy rubs his eyes and opens the window. “Goodbye,” he says. And he doesn’t wait for a response. He just leaves.

_ Goodbye Billy Hargrove. _

Steve sits, vacantly stares at the window for what feels like hours.

He realizes, his mom never checked in.

His mom never does nowadays.

_ Reminder that I still love you. _

  
  


Angrily, he kicks his car door and  _ definitely  _ leaves a dent. Nobody’s there to see him on the side of the street, parked around the corner of the Harrington estate, kicking his car door over and  _ over  _ again. It’s sharp, aggressive movement. Cuts into the metal, digs into his shoes.

He’s kicking so much with white rage, he doesn’t hear the car not too far from his own. He just keeps, keeps  _ kicking.  _ It doesn’t really matter. It might be his Camaro, but.

“Fucking,  _ stupid,”  _ Billy shouts at his car, but it’s all reflected on him. It’s all  _ him.  _ He hates how it’s so clean, he can see himself. Him and his stupid face.

“Hello?” A voice speaks, and Billy doesn’t look up. He keeps kicking, even with how big the dent’s getting. Doesn’t matter.

“What do you  _ want?”  _ he spits, feels like his knuckles are being too neglected. So he moves in and punches his glass window. It doesn’t shatter, but it cracks. Satisfyingly so. If he did it a few more times…

“Oh, please. You’re one of the Hargroves.”

And  _ that. _

That makes Billy stop in his fury, makes him look up past his car to come face to face with a spitting image of Steve. But. Older, whiter hair, somehow paler, sporting a real nasty beard and.  _ Not Steve. _

His dad.

“Mr. Harrington,” he says. Bites his tongue from saying anything bad, even if seeing brown hair makes his chest clench. Makes him all too aware of how his knuckles are bleeding from the little pieces of glass digging into his skin. The ones that  _ stabbed,  _ pricked.

Mr. Harrington seems to lighten up with being recognized, smiles all fake-formal and tips his stupid hat. “I’m glad you and I could meet finally. Always wanted to know a Hargrove myself.”

_ A Hargrove. _

It comes off insultingly, like Hargroves are  _ lowlifes  _ compared to the oh so mighty  _ Harringtons.  _ Is this what Steve thought of Billy?

“You’re friends with my son, yes?”

_ Yes. _

“Who?” Billy lies.

“Steven. I know you two talk. Hang out in the city.”

It’s like everything got darker, because that smile’s looking  _ too twisted  _ and Billy feels like he’s been set up. Steve doesn’t seem the type to talk with his dad, so. It’s true. He  _ watches. _

“You sent a stalker,” Billy says flatly. No point tip-toeing around it. He’d know.

Harrington nods, still smiling creepily. “I did, yeah. But not to  _ watch.” _

“What? Tellin’ me you don’t get off on knowing anything and everything your rich little to-be heir does every waking second of his fuckin’ life? Not controlling enough for you?”

Harrington has money,  _ some  _ connections. Billy? Billy’s the one who people say  _ is  _ their connection.  _ Billy’s  _ the more powerful one here.

“I’m afraid not, Hargrove,” Harrington says, and the way he says  _ Hargrove  _ is just so distasteful. It’s even more bitter than when Billy himself says it. “It’s to keep him safe.”

“Said every parent ever.”

“Believe me, I let him live his life. He goes to his bars, sleeps with who he wants, I don’t care. He’s my  _ son.  _ I’m sure your father understands this.”

_ Tough talk for someone within punching distance. _

Harrington continues, “But being a Harrington doesn’t come without its flaws.”

“‘cause being rich is  _ so  _ hard,” Billy says, fishing for his car keys already. He’s not sticking around for this shit.

“It is! See? You get it.”

_ He really doesn’t. _

Billy scoffs and finds his car keys, doesn’t think about the dents as he unlocks his car. “Look, love to hold a conversation about your weird obsession with your kid, but I’m --”

“-- the man I hired is dead. If I don’t get someone else,  _ Steve  _ will be dead as well.”

And he stops.

His eyes are glued on his car door, completely within reach to open. But he stays still.

“We, as a notorious family, get death threats. Sometimes, we get enemies,” Harrington watches Billy slowly lock eyes with him, “and sometimes, our enemies are notorious as well.”

It clicks.

“I know Hargroves are tough. They’re strong, quick-witted and handsome. Your father, I met at a club, he’s a talker. He knows how to get what he wants, never stops even when it gets physical. You’re  _ built.  _ I know you fought off the man they sent after my little boy.”

Flattering, but  _ difficult. _ “Who?”

“I need my money for my bills and my wife. I can’t afford to waste more money on people who aren’t willing to  _ really  _ put their life on the line for Steve.”

_ Life on the line. _

“My life’s on the line either way,” Billy states.

“I know.”

That hits him straight in the jaw, makes him tense. How his life matters  _ so little  _ to Harrington as long as his son’s okay.

“Let’s make a deal, Hargrove.”

He’s all too familiar with deals.

“Why should I make a deal with  _ you?” _

“Because my son needs you. I can pay off all the debt your father’s in. I can help you, and you can help  _ me.” _

“How would  _ this  _ be helping you?”

“Well, if my son dies, I can’t adopt. I need someone of my blood to take over my company.”

_ That’s fucked up. _

Billy almost barfs in his mouth right then.

“That’s fucked up.”

“From my grandfather, to my father, to me. It’s family business, son.”

“I’m not doing it,” Billy states, and he’s well on his way to opening the door and getting in until Harrington raises his stupid voice again.

“Then, my son will have to fight for himself, I’m afraid. I can’t spend any more money than I already have on him. His job’s a shit wreck.”

Harrington says it with such venom, it makes Billy want to reach out and  _ rip. _

But he doesn’t.

He closes his eyes silently, enters his car and struggles to close the door. It’s broken beyond repair, but he manages. A single tap could break his window. He doesn’t care.

Harrington stays there by his car, looking at him, and he darkens as he drives away.

When he’s far enough, he reaches for his phone with shaking hands and calls Tommy.

Tommy answers. “Billy? What’s up?”

“I’ve got a job for you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you can find me on tumblr at nancywrote for harringrove prompts!
> 
> i realize i can write, it's just that i always put it off adbhvjfvmsc i just never feel in the mood until i am Doing It nowadays and quarantine's been discouraging me from doing a lot of things i used to enjoy :(( i tried my best with this chapter though! thank you for reading <33


	6. Hargrove's Friends (And Steve's Return)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a watchful eye,  
> from a man disguised in white

“Steve,” his dad’s voice comes from the door.

Steve huffs, chin tucked, “What?” he rubs the back of his neck gently and stares at the window. Where Hargrove ran off to.

“You’re going back to school.”

Immediately, he sits up and feels the bruise by his nape pulsing. He hisses, quietly, “I… am?”

“Just make sure you’ve got everything ready and you’re caught up with homework. You’re free to leave your room as well now. Have fun.”

Homework.

Well, that was _far_ too soon.

Still, he can’t help the way the corners of his lips tug upwards, curving into a small smile. A dark smile. Hargrove may be there, but, that’s the least of his concerns.

Steve’s not really thinking as, like usual, he reaches for his phone to call Nancy.

  
  


“Steve!” Nancy cheers, running into his arms and letting herself be swept off her feet to be spun. Jonathan catches up with a fond smile and crinkled eyes.

Steve laughs with her and squeezes before letting her down, “One and only.”

He can do with just the two.

“Have you done your homework?” Nancy asks when she’s back by Jonathan’s side, smiling up at Steve like she hasn’t seen him in years. Which, honestly, is what it feels like.

“Well, with your help, I did like… half of it. Maybe a little over,” he murmurs sheepishly. He’s giddy, though. He misses her. Weirdly enough, Jonathan as well.

Nancy groans exasperated, “Of course…”

“I mean, hey, it’s better than nothing. I tried, Nance!” Steve defends with a pout.

After a moment, Nancy gives in and breaks into a smile again, “Okay, okay, sure. Hey, I’m gonna be with Jonathan today since it’s our anniversary, but, call either of us if you need anything. Robin says she’s free today, but Keith will be with her as well if you’re up for that.”

“Ugh, Keith?” Steve cringes, “I think I’ll stick with Tommy.”

Speaking of, Steve’s eyes catch the familiar head of hair belonging to none other than Hagan, just across the lot walking real angry-like. He’s frowning.

His eyes narrow, trying to figure out why Hagan would be upset. Maybe Carol’s mad at him again?

“Well, okay. Good luck with _that_ one. See ya, text me, okay? Maybe tomorrow after school we can check out the arcade,” Nancy suggests. Steve brightens at this and nods.

“That’d be cool.”

She smiles and tugs Jonathan by the arm to start walking to school, but not before leaving a quick peck on Steve’s cheek. A friendly one, of course. Jonathan mutters a shy but friendly _bye_ as he’s dragged into the building behind Nancy, leaving Steve by himself by his car.

“Alright,” he mutters to nobody. His eyes yet again find Tommy, not at all with Carol. Oh. Interesting.

And then he sees where Tommy’s headed, and he freezes.

Hargrove’s there, smoking _right in front of the school_ surrounded by guys Steve’s never personally met before but has seen around, barely. Smack dab in the middle of them, letting them talk as he eyes Tommy Hagan up and down with a reflected frown. He’s got sunglasses on.

Tense, Steve briskly walks up behind Tommy and pokes his shoulder before he can close the distance between him and Billy.

Tommy turns, surprised. His frown seems to lessen when he sees Steve, but it still remains, “Oh, hey, Steve! You’re back!” He smiles finally after a once-over.

Steve smiles back and gives him an awkward, short side-hug, “Yeah, dad let me off for whatever reason. Nancy’s ditched me for her anniversary with Jonathan, so I’m all alone today too.”

“What about Robin?” Tommy asks, head tilted like a puppy. It seems he’s momentarily forgotten about Hargrove, or wherever his destination really is.

“Are you kidding? Dude, she’s got _Keith_ with her. Fuck that guy, he sucks.”

Tommy laughs, but it trails off into a sigh. “Look, man,” he starts, and his eyes flit to Billy for a moment, “I’ve gotta go, but, maybe we can hang after school. I’ll have to check in with tough guy over there. Take care, alright? Good luck with Robin.”

Shit, he doesn’t have a choice, apparently.

“No problem, seeya, Tommy. You take care as well,” Steve says, and he’s not so much as nodded at before Tommy brushes past him with that same frown.

And he turns, finds Hargrove looking dead at him.

A chill runs down his spine, making him shudder under the watchful blue eyes of Hargrove’s. Stupidly, Steve looks down and avoids the eye contact, but not before quickly scanning the men around Hargrove.

They’re kind of familiar, but kind of _not._

Steve’s seen them before, never talked to them, but they’ve definitely got to have _some_ rep, considering they’re always at the parties he’s been to.

They’re weird. The quiet ones in class, never really talk to the people Steve knows, and Steve knows _everyone,_ and they come to class with a limp or a kick in their step. Like they’ve been fighting, and they’ve been winning. They’re the kind of kids you’d never think twice about, the kind that don’t mess with you, so you don’t mess with them. The kind that could probably kill with words if they spoke up, but they choose not to. The scarily mysterious kind. The fact that they appear at the parties Steve goes to is enough to intimidate him already.

Coupled with that, there’s one guy that just sticks out. Somebody who looks and seems like he doesn’t fit in at all. Not in the way that he’s an outcast, or _weird,_ but. He seems… _old._ Old like, early to mid twenties at _least._ His looks alone always creeped Steve out. Maybe he’s assuming, or overthinking, but the guy’s been here since Billy and he doesn’t look much like he’s aged. There’s no way he _isn’t_ old.

Maybe he’s been set back?

But he’s. Definitely smart.

Steve huffs, dusts his jacket and checks to make sure his pockets are zipped up. Satisfied, he bows his head and walks.

Walks, head low, eyes downcast, memorizing every step he takes just in case he needs to avoid them again, and brings his head up just for a moment to remind himself where he is. He can’t navigate head lowered _forever._

Sure enough, he’s not too far from Hargrove’s car. Hargrove, who’s not looking at him anymore, but playing with his lighter, hair styled a little more than usual. Of course, Steve’s heart races. Races at many things.

The way his fingers so swiftly snap the lighter open and closed, how his curls fall over his face so messily yet perfectly, his sunglasses just sliding off the bridge of his freckled nose to reveal those icy blues looking ahead bored. Distracted, in thought, _considering._

And the fact that his friends are looking at Steve instead.

Quickly, he ducks his head again and hides the growing blush, starts walking again but faster. He wonders if Tommy saw him, wonders if Tommy was _judging_ him.

Jesus Christ, he hasn’t felt that embarrassed and weirdly scared since primary, or his first party with Nancy.

When he makes it to his locker without completely collapsing to his weak knees, he pushes his stuff around and pretends he’s doing something when he’s just running his fingertips along his phone case with his head buried in his locker completely. Breathe in, out. In, _out._

 _He wants nothing to do with me,_ Steve thinks. _That’s all._

He takes his head out of his locker and slams it shut, making everyone else in the corridors jump and their heads turn. “What?” He snaps at them, all too aggressively.

The blood drains from all their faces and they turn away, scared.

_Fuck._

I’m _the scary one here?_

And he makes a mental note to revisit his favorite bar in the city right after school.

  
  


The drive is quiet, but Steve _swears_ he isn’t alone.

Like, surely, he won’t be.

His dad wouldn’t just let him _off the hook_ after stalking him for God knows how long.

But it’s not just that, it’s the fact that the streets are filled, but there are _familiar_ cars, and.

They’re _black,_ and _silver,_ and one of them’s _always around the corner,_ and it’s not too far-fetched to assume that he’s being followed. Either that, or these people just happen to be going to the same place. It’s the city, after all. Everybody’s going somewhere.

Except when he parks around the corner in the lot, they park there too. And when he gets out, they don’t. He tries not to look too obvious looking around, but he pretends instead that he’s just remembering where he is. Tries to look like it’s his _first fuckin’ time_ here, or something. It would be justified anyways, he hasn’t been here in forever.

Quickly, nervously, Steve heads for the bar a few blocks down. It’s a gay bar, of course, but the street’s nothing like Crowns -- it’s crowded, it’s full of night life and even though the clouds are only slightly parted to let the sun shine on a specific part of the street that Steve’s not _on,_ he can tell people are already setting up. Ready for guests, ready for services. 

“Harrington!” A familiar voice greets him when he’s finally in the bar, and he smiles brightly in response. “Hey, Chief.”

It’s Hopper, works in the city but also near his school as a full-time cop and detective. He does his job well, Steve’s heard. They’ve met a couple of times before, apparently Hopper’s close with his friend, Jonathan’s mom. Thankfully, Hopper’s kind. A stickler for rules, but he’s willing to let Steve off the hook whenever he sees him at bars, and he doesn’t say anything about it.

Steve doubts it’s because he’s gay. But he knows that the police station is never too far from the nightlife, just in case things happen. So Hopper probably likes to be as close to the action as possible, and gay bars are like, one of the safer places to be usually. If you don’t wanna be suffocated in the crowd in a chase, at least.

It’s not like he’s complaining, Hopper’s saved his ass a couple of times from touchy men or creepy people. One time, Hopper offered to give him a ride back when a guy just wouldn’t stop flirting with Steve. He turned it down, of course, because he had his own car anyways. It was really nice of him though.

“You’re in early,” Steve comments, sitting on the stool right by the cop comfortably. Nobody’s really here yet, it’s way too early. The bartender sees Steve and shoots him a friendly smile before already getting a drink ready for the brunette. Steve smiles back, then refocuses his attention on Hopper.

“Word got around that some people might be here, so, here I am.” Hopper smiles, and sips his drink. Nothing strong, never on the job. “You’re here for the first time in what feels like forever. Decided to take a break?”

“No, actually. Dad locked me up in my room.” He sighs and mutters a thanks to the bartender when he’s got his apple juice. It has a strong scent to it, meant to appear like alcohol to an intoxicated man, but it keeps him safe. He tries not to drink unless it’s been a particularly hard day, or it’s later in the night when he’s about ready to knock out.

“Your dad?” Hopper’s brows furrow, and he strokes his beard. “Last I heard, your dad didn’t even care about where you went.”

“Yeah, well, things happened. Times have changed.”

“Alright, I’ll give you that one.”

A beat.

Hopper rolls his shoulders, “If something’s going on, though… you’ve got my number, you know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, of course. I won’t get into anything bad. I know, _dad,”_ Steve jokes.

But the look of concern painted all over Hopper’s face makes Steve’s jaw clench.

“I mean it,” Hopper says, and finishes up his drink.

“Yeah,” Steve says quietly, “I do, too.”

When he looks off, he can’t help the small voice in his head that says _no, he doesn’t._

Because he most _certainly_ is in something bad.

Fucking _Billy Hargrove._

That feeling of misery and regret must have flashed on his face, because Hopper pats his back with knitted brows. “What’s on your mind, kid?”

“I --” Steve hesitates, thinks, _should I really tell him?_

But Hopper’s so kind, and Jonathan speaks so brightly of him, and.

“There’s just someone.” It’s not a lie. It’s not the complete truth, either.

Hopper nods. “He trouble?”

“Kind of. Yeah.”

“But you like him.”

“Yeah.”

He’s…

Never told anyone that.

And it feels all so weirdly freeing to have out there now, but also so. _Painful._ Because he told him to _get out,_ and, he _misses_ him, and. “Yeah,” he repeats again, distantly, and slowly swirls the juice in his glass around. He’s not very thirsty, even though his mouth feels so dry at the thought of...

_...Billy fucking Hargrove._

“I’ve been there,” Hopper sighs, “trouble is trouble. Used to tell my daughter to look out for those kind of guys.”

“Jane?”

He shakes his head, and his smile is so tight-lipped and _wrong_ it makes Steve’s stomach churn, “She asked me once, what would happen if she fell for a girl instead?”

_Oh._

“Well, I guess we both couldn’t find out. But I told her I’d love her either way, and that, she likes who she likes. Told her she could like both, none, or... or all of it.”

_All of it._

And it clicked.

“I’m…” Steve’s breathing slows, and he inhales shakily, tries not to let his relief but also sadness and pity seep into his voice, “... so she’s… and you’re…” _Bi. Pan. Ace?_

“I lean towards girls, but I used to be called gay for that. Take that as you will.”

_Oh._

_Oh, oh. Oh._

The gears are loud in Steve’s ears, and he wants a drink now.

“And she’s… yeah. They took my little girl early.”

Steve feels himself shudder, and shake, and. “What about Jane?”

“Jane’s here,” Hopper smiles, more genuine this time. His eyes are soft. “I’ll make sure she’s safe from trouble.”

Jeez.

Steve huffs a half-laugh, half-sob, and nods, “That’s cool.” He wipes his cheek, but it’s not wet. “Really cool. I mean… wow. I wish my dad was so supportive.”

“Not everyone has that luxury, I’m afraid. But, if it means anything,” Hopper pulls out his wallet and gestures the bartender over, asks for another one for _the kid here_ and pays in advance. Smiles at Steve, who’s wide-eyed and choked up, “I support ya, son. This… guy you like. Trouble or not, I’m sure you like him for a reason. I just can’t see you falling for somebody who ain’t got good intentions, you know better. Or, hell, maybe he won’t be the one, but, I’ll support you with whoever you like, ‘till I’m not alive to say that out loud. It’s okay. You’ll be okay.”

_You know better._

Steve’s genuinely on the brink of tears, unable to breathe properly until the door slams open and a group of _familiar looking men_ flood in. But men he can’t quite discern. All but _one._

Still, he rips his eyes away from them to focus all his attention on the man before him.

“Yeah, I,” he sniffs, “I think I really like him.” _Because he’s got blue eyes and blonde hair, and he means something special._ “I think, he won’t admit it, but, he’s good. He’s really good.” _Because he’s something real mean, but he’s never hurt me on purpose._ “Thanks, chief. I… thanks.”

Hopper smiles, then pockets his wallet. “I’m gonna go now, don’t want anybody keying my car or something. Take care of yourself, kid. Call me if anything happens, I mean it. Don’t get into trouble.”

“No promises.”

He might want the trouble.

Hopper snorts and pats him. “Alright. Bye.”

“Good luck.”

Then the cop’s out of the bar, and Steve’s left to his thoughts and.

_Familiar men._

No, it’s not all familiar. They’re wearing jackets, but not the kind that scream bad.

One of them, though.

Billy’s friend.

Steve’s seen him, the one that looks old. The one that’s too big, too buff to be a student at their school. He wonders, for a moment, if he could get Billy’s number through the guy.

But, well, he’s scared shitless of him. Also there’s that chance that he won’t get the number, and he’ll get a punch instead.

Maybe, if he went outside and got attacked…

_Nope._

_That’s just wishful thinking at this point._

Jesus, he’s going crazy, and he’s pretty high on freedom right now.

Oh, he’s _very_ high on freedom.

So when he takes a nice chug of the unknown drink the bartender hands him from Hopper’s wallet, he pushes himself off the stool and pushes through some of the men talking and joking before dark.

“Hey,” he grumbles when he finally reaches the buff guy.

The man raises his brow, still quiet.

“You’re Billy’s friend, yeah?” Steve states, doesn’t expect an answer as he licks his dry lips, “You got his number?”

 _“What?”_ A familiar voice hisses from behind him.

And he turns, and he feels his blood run cold when he catches the eyes of none other than _Tommy._

Tommy, who’s wearing a hat. Smaller than the other men but not quite sticking out behind them, drinking water and looking _offended._

“Tommy!” Steve smiles. “Do _you?”_

“Why the fuck do you want Billy’s number?”

“Why’re you following me?”

“I’m not…”

“Cut the bullshit, Tommy, this is a _gay_ bar and nobody near us right now look anythin’ homo,” and his head kind of starts to feel heavy, and he realizes Hopper most _definitely_ didn’t order something light. Either that or it was something he was _not_ supposed to chug.

“I -- I don’t, we, were looking for --”

“-- Tommy. I want Billy’s number.”

Steve’s nostrils flare but Tommy fixes him with a glare, something warning, something _dangerous._ A glint in his eyes that let him know, he can get what he wants if he pushes. A look that Steve knows, that Tommy’s never able to hide.

“You’re not getting it,” Tommy says, and pushes against Steve to move them away from the other men.

“What is it then? Same as last time? I tried it last night, couldn’t be. Does it start with four? Or, oh, five? No, let’s start from one --”

“Steve, Billy doesn’t want anything to do with you.”

That hurts, that really fucking _stings,_ but Steve tries because honestly, he kind of gets off on that sting and he cares _too much,_ “Oh! How about six? Double six? _Triple?_ What’s his number, Hagan? I wanna talk to him.”

“Why?”

“Because I fuckin’ want to! His number, or I’ll be taking your phone.”

“He doesn’t even have a fucking number! He’s always changing.”

“No he’s not, that’s bullshit! He’s had the same number since the day I met him, it hasn’t changed until… fuck, fuck, Tommy, _please.”_ His head’s starting to hurt. The lights are too bright now, even if it’s all neon. There might’ve been a drug in his drink or something, definitely not courtesy of Hopper. Why would the bartender do that?

“No fuckin’ way, dude, I’ve had to call him on eight different numbers per month at _least._ Lay off! Are you drunk?” Tommy pushes Steve even further from the others, until they’re more secluded by the corner, isolated from the increasing crowd.

_What?_

But. Billy’s been calling him on _one._ Billy’s been answering him on _one._

“Dude, but, I’ve been using the same number. I had it saved until he deleted it…” Steve whines.

Tommy places his hand on Steve’s forehead for a moment, groans. “Jesus, you’re fucked, man. Do you need a ride?”

“Why are you here?”

“Is your car here? I can drive you back.”

“Are you here with them?”

Realization hits Steve.

“If it isn’t, I can call an Uber, or --”

“-- Where’s Billy?” Steve cuts him off.

“Why… do you wanna see him so bad? It’s not just for me, is it?” Tommy darkens, and _yeah,_ it’s true. It’s so, so true and it _sucks._

“Because, I. Fucked up.”

Tommy’s quiet, inviting. And Steve sinks into that freedom, sinks into their _friendship,_ “I fucked up, and yelled at him. And I fucked up, and told him to leave."

“What do you mean?”

It’s too much talking, Steve can’t handle it. He just.

“I wanna see Billy. Please,” he whispers.

“I’m sorry, Steve. He’s not here.”

That hurts more than it should.

And Steve crumbles, slides down the wall and curls up. Gives in to his weak knees and _chokes._ “I fucking hate myself.” He rips at his own hair, feels disgusted that he made it extra soft today as though Billy would feel it with his eyes in the morning.

“Dude…” Tommy crouches by him, and places a hand on his back comfortingly. Nervously. “I… I didn’t know this was a gay bar. I didn’t know you were…”

“I’m not, I’m bi.” It comes out like butter, but it doesn’t quite taste right on his lips. Like, he knows he’s bi. But the fact that he has to tell Tommy _now._

When Tommy’s known him since. Forever.

“... do you… like Billy?” Tommy asks.

“I hate him.”

“I know, but --”

“I really do.”

That’s the only answer Tommy needs, and then he leans back against the wall with Steve. It’s quiet, save for the not-yet-blaring music playing across the bar and the men and women dancing and talking loud and familiarly around them.

“So you had his personal number,” Tommy says.

“I think I did,” Steve answers, face still buried between his knees.

Then it’s silent again, until Steve decides he wants to go home.

But that choice is all but silenced when his phone starts ringing. When he lifts his head, Tommy’s looking at his pocket confused. “Is it dad?”

“Uh, not sure,” Steve shuffles his hand around in his pocket and manages to pull his phone out, finding the word _Max_ flashing before him. “It’s Max.”

“Max… like, Billy’s little sister Max?”

“Yeah, um.” He swipes it and presses it against his ear, leans into Tommy as Tommy tries to listen in curiously.

 _“Steve,”_ a shaky, wet voice pipes from the other line. It’s whispered, rushed. _Scared._

Immediately, he feels fear.

“Max? Max, what’s wrong? Where are you?”

 _“I’m in Billy’s room… are you with him? Please -- please tell me -- you’re with him --”_ and it breaks off into a weak sob, that makes Steve jump to his feet and Tommy follow along with him. Tommy mouths an _I’ll get the others,_ and Steve nods as the other storms off.

“No, no, I’m not, what -- what’s happening? What’s going on? Send me your location _right now --”_

 _“They’re coming --”_ a hiccup, _“Neil said they wouldn’t find us, and, I’m alone. I hear them downstairs, walking, and Heather won’t pick up --”_

“Get out of there, okay? Out the window, quick as you can, and run. Find a house you can hide in, call the cops, just --”

Then, the doors slam open again and gunshots ring in Steve’s ears.

At first, his blood runs cold because he thinks it’s from Max’s end.

Until terror runs through him when people start dropping to the ground around him.

His eyes widen, and he realizes his call’s ended. When he looks to his left, Tommy’s shouting at the other men who are drawing guns as well. But those guns don’t look as heavy or big as the ones that the three men at the front of the bar are shooting and,

“Steve!” Tommy shouts in his ear, grabs him. He can’t quite _hear._

Tommy looks around then starts running for the door by the counter, leading into the staff room. And right behind him, Steve can see that old-looking student get shot.

Then the door shuts, and Steve’s vision is getting blurrier. It’s all closing in.

Tommy rushes to open the back entrance, unlocks it clumsily before throwing Steve through it and shutting it behind them. “We have to go --” screams come from inside, but it’s not as loud as the beating in Steve’s ears, heavy and -- “-- we have to leave, _now!”_

Okay. Okay, he can. He can do that.

He shoves his phone in his pocket and pushes himself off the brick wall behind him, grabbing Tommy’s wrist and running out the alley. On the streets, there are crowds on crowds forming for the special stripshow on the street, cutting off traffic and earning a swear from Steve when he realizes he’ll have to take the longer way out if he was gonna drive.

“Hurry!” Tommy hisses, and Steve starts running for the parking lot.

The wind cuts his breath, makes his eyes water and he can’t quite think clearly but he does know to _find his car_ as soon as he can, before…

The crowd behind the two _roar_ with excitement, before it dissolves into screams and gunshots. The transition from glory to chaos is almost harmonious, almost teasing, almost _disgusting._

“Get in!” Steve yells when he’s found and unlocked his car, getting into the driver’s seat. Tommy hastily follows behind and shuts the door so strongly it almost makes Steve cringe. He pulls out, eyeing the crowd wearily before driving in the opposite direction to try and find a way out of the city as soon as possible.

Tommy breathes heavily behind him, “Fuck, man, _fuck!”_ he grabs his phone and presses in some numbers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Steve asks, tense. _Fuck, were those the guys Hopper was talking about? Who’s with Max?_

“I’m calling Neil!”

“Who the fuck’s _Neil?”_

“Our fuckin’ boss, Billy’s _dad,”_ Tommy says and then presses the phone to his ear when said _boss_ picks up.

“Fuckin’...” Steve growls under his breath, Max said something about Neil on the call. Is he trustworthy? Heather suggested that Billy’s dad may not be the best.

It’s a fuzzy ride, Steve doesn’t know where he’s driving, only that it’s _out of the city._ He can hear Tommy muttering shit into the phone, seemingly a mix of angry and formal. Listening to, probably, a lecture. There’s dripping from the sky, starting to paint the windows.

But he won’t last.

Because Steve’s vision is closing in, he’s getting gray fuzzy spots dancing around and he knows he won’t last the long ride. He won’t make it, and he won’t let Tommy drive his fucking car if it means the boy will save the _world._ The idiot would crash it before it even starts.

So he rounds the corner in a last-minute decision, swerves so fast Tommy slaps him upside the back of the head, and he hazily starts driving down the familiar empty street until he reaches the parking lot, where Tommy starts looking at him funny in the mirror.

When Steve parks, he gets out of the car just as Tommy hangs up and runs his hands through his hair drowsily.

“What, you need gas?” Tommy asks, brows knit as he closes the car door behind him. He seems to vaguely recognize the street as well, judging from how he looks around.

“I’m drugged,” Steve states and heads to the sidewalk. Tommy runs up to him and shoves him, “The fuck you mean, _‘drugged’?_ You mean you’re drunk? I can drive!”

“I mean _drugged,_ asshole, I’m gonna fucking throw up,” Steve snaps. His voice comes off so condescending and cold, Tommy visibly flinches and he feels almost _bad._

But he doesn’t think about it, even when Tommy mutters an _asshole,_ he just keeps walking down the block until he reaches a familiar set of stairs leading up to brown doors.

“Isn’t this…?”

Steve ignores him in favor of opening said doors, walking in on a relatively empty bar save for two familiar bartenders and a few men wrapped around the counter.

“Steve?” Heather’s eyes widen.

 _“Steve?”_ A deep, husky voice follows, making Tommy swear in surprise and Steve raise his head in relief and shock.

There, sitting by the bar with a duffle bag half-opened and an unloaded gun abandoned on the counter, Billy _fucking_ Hargrove is. Of course he’s there. Always is.

And Steve smiles stupidly, sluggishly, raises his voice just as Tommy freaks out.

“Billy…” he drawls, and nearly trips over his own foot walking towards Billy, who’s frozen in his place, caught red-handed and wide-eyed.

Heather pushes the bag and the gun away from the two, hiding the items under the counter, “Steve -- we were, uh --”

The moment Steve reaches Billy, he wants to bring him into a tight hug, but.

“I’m gonna fucking throw up,” he slurs, making Billy’s face soften for a moment.

And then he collapses and blacks out.

  
  


It’s raining harder when he wakes up, wrapped up in blankets in a small, dark-ish room lit by only one bulb. Tommy’s sitting on the ground, texting away on his phone but paying attention to the conversation going on.

Billy is pacing back and forth, hitting walls and _things_ loudly and Heather’s trying to calm him down. Steve thinks this might be the staff room, or something.

Billy’s loud, angry voice fades in. “... I can’t fucking _believe it,_ Heather! They’ve got _more men_ and Neil’s just doing jack shit!”

“I know,” Heather sighs, trying to grab at his arms and get him to stop hitting things. It’s not working. “Please just don’t hit _me,”_ she grumbles.

Steve decides that now would be a good time to rise, so he does, making everybody’s heads turn and Billy stop in his steps. _Fuck,_ it feels too good to see the blonde again. It hasn’t even been that long, but.

“Steve…” Heather’s brows furrow.

“How long was I out for?” He asks, throat dry. Billy doesn’t even hesitate to pluck the bottle of water out of Tommy’s hands and toss it to Steve trustingly.

Of course, he catches it and chugs it down. It washes down his throat so soothingly, but his head still hurts. It’s worth it anyways.

“Two hours, maybe,” Tommy says.

_“What?”_

“No, an hour and a half,” Heather corrects. “Are you okay, Steve?”

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’m great, actually.” _Being around Billy shouldn’t be this good._

“What do we do now?” Tommy asks.

“We get Max?” Steve suggests, brows raised. “Did you tell them about Max?” He asks the moment he sees Billy tense even more. Tommy shakes his head, eyes wide.

Billy immediately punches the shelf, definitely knocking a dent in it, and it makes everyone jump. _“What_ happened to Max?”

“She said somebody, or some people, were in the house. She was hiding in your room but I told her to get out and run as far as she could, I’m pretty sure.”

Seething with rage, Billy grabs his jacket off the ground and puts his hand on the doorknob. “I’m leaving, I’m gonna --”

“No, you’re not going anywhere, _Billy. I’ll_ deal with it. You take care of _Steve,”_ Heather hisses, and by the way she says his name, Steve can only assume they were talking about _something_ while he was out or she knows something he doesn’t.

Before Billy can protest, Heather grabs the car keys out of his pocket swiftly and opens the back door. The rain’s loud, makes Steve tense remembering gunshots. “If you’re going, bring Tommy,” Billy says quickly, eyes screwed shut. He huffs.

“Oh, shit, sure,” Tommy gets up from the ground, “I mean, whatever, I can drive --”

“He’s definitely not driving,” Steve states and Billy looks at him. And.

Fuck.

That expression _softens,_ doesn’t look as angry or stupidly enraged and. God, he wants to be close to him. Really badly.

Heather snorts then grips onto Tommy’s forearm and leaves, shutting the door loudly behind them. It makes Steve’s skin crawl.

Then, it’s just Billy and Steve. And Steve’s all wrapped up in blankets, so. He slowly peels the layers off his skin, and immediately shivers at the cold air that hits him, but he’s in such a cold sweat he doesn’t think about it. Instead he plants his feet on the ground and stretches before standing up and nearly falling over.

He can tell Billy’s being antsy, wants to do something and can’t keep still.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, watching Billy stare intently at the shelf like he’s gonna beat the shit out of it, which, he probably _is, “Hey,”_ he repeats, louder. Finally those blue eyes focus into his brown ones.

God, he _sinks._

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathes, trying not to think about his loudly beating heart. Trying not to give in to the urge to just. Touch Billy.

Billy shrugs the tension away, looks down, “You were drugged.”

“Not for that, idiot.” It comes off fond.

It’s quiet, and it feels like it would be the _perfect_ time to reach out and touch Billy. Like. Fuck.

The feelings are so strong Steve’s close to breaking down right there.

“I was the one who hurt you,” Billy says like it’s a _curse,_ mutters it so softly that Steve barely catches it. The guilt, the belief, the _regret._

“You didn’t mean to. I pushed you.”

Billy scoffs, _“I_ pushed _you._ Don’t try and sugarcoat it.”

“Well, are you sorry?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have said that, maybe he shouldn’t push even more, but he’s sinking in Billy’s presence and he wants to make _something._ He wants to get _somewhere,_ with what little time they have left. He just wants to know things, before he won’t get the chance to again. He wants to, he wants... to _understand_ Billy.

Billy’s quiet, then he walks past Steve slowly and lowers himself onto the couch. Lets his head fall back and closes his eyes. It’s so peaceful, how he looks, but so tense at the same time. It grips Steve.

“I can’t forgive you if you’re not asking to _be_ forgiven, Billy.”

Steve sits right next to him, close enough to feel the warmth but not enough to touch. Their thighs, inches apart. Nothing like when they were in Steve’s bedroom, shoulders brushing and completely safe. But he wonders, if they were ever safe. Separately, together, for _any_ reason.

“What if I don’t wanna be forgiven?” Billy says, soft.

“Yeah, right,” Steve snorts, “look at you. I’ve already forgiven you anyways, and you haven’t said shit.” And he lets his head fall back as well, but points it a little towards Billy, smiling a little too fondly for the moment.

Billy opens his eyes, and stares right back, “What’s your deal, Harrington?”

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you care?”

Billy’s expression is unreadable, and Steve can’t see _anything_ in his eyes.

And that’s what scares him.

That before, he could at least vaguely understand this man in front of him. He could find a way to crack him, read him, _see_ him. But right now, he sees… nothing.

There’s nothing in those eyes, no light, no anger, no remorse, nothing. Just… _haunting._

And his own reflection.

“Because,” _because you’re gorgeous, and you breathed life into me when I thought I already had it, and you taught me to really live a little, and you saved me from someone who didn’t really love me, and you saved my life, and you held me, and I told you I hated you and you ate that shit up like bread because you knew it wasn’t true, and you punched me, and you,_

_You._

“It’s you,” he says. “Because it’s you.”

Billy’s mask cracks, something changes in his eyes and he lets them focus past Steve. “Vague answer.” But his voice trembles, and he sighs. “I’ll never understand you.”

I’ll _never understand_ you, Steve thinks.

But in that moment, when Billy’s fingers twitch close to Steve’s side, when his eyes shift for a moment to show _consideration, thought,_ Steve thinks he might understand him just a little. _Just a little._

“Yeah, you never will,” Steve agrees. But he wants to help him understand. He _wants_ Billy to understand.

_Sometimes, I wanna kiss you._

But he won’t say that.

So he stays quiet, until the rain’s gotten hard enough to smack against the door and send his hairs rising on the back of his neck, until Billy’s breathing is blurred out enough to make Steve wanna talk more to remind himself that they’re both still there, until. Until.

His phone rings.

Billy’s head lowers, curiously. Steve picks it up without hesitation, doesn’t look at the ID and puts it on speaker.

 _“You can’t hide forever, Harrington.”_ The voice is deep, deeper than Billy’s. Mocking.

Steve tenses, “Who --”

“Steve,” Billy cuts him off in a whisper, wide-eyed. He’s staring at the phone.

Steve looks down, and his breath catches.

The screen says _Maxine Mayfield._

And the rain is loud in his ears. Louder than Billy slamming the door to the bar open in an instant.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ao3 has been weirdly glitching out lately, idk if it's just me but it keeps discouraging me from doing things whenever i'm not logged in sgxdfhcvb
> 
> hope this chapter finds you well! thank you for reading :) (sorry for the tease)


	7. Billy Hargrove Stuff

“Billy,” Steve says, rushed. The blonde ignores him, keeps his head ducked underneath the bar shuffling and moving things around out of Steve’s view.

Of course Steve’s panicked. He’s scared shitless that his stalker, or whatever, is going against the grain of _what they probably should be doing_ like finding _Steve_ instead of attacking a _child._ But, he’s also fucking terrified of what Billy’s gonna do next. Because Billy _slammed_ the door open just seconds earlier, startling all the other people in the bar, and then he _yelled_ at them to leave and scared the other bartender off before going under the counter to do _God_ knows _what._

And now, Steve’s on the other side worried, too scared to peek because he doesn’t know what will happen to him if he does, and he’s. He’s wondering.

What the heavy stuff in the duffle bag was, why the pair of eyes are gone but he’s still being followed in more than just his actions but his _friends_ too, where Heather and Tommy are and.

 _What_ is Billy gonna _do?_

“Billy,” he repeats again, wearily. His heart’s racing, of course he’s fucking _scared,_ but he doesn’t know what he can do. He doesn’t know what to do. _What can he do?_

He’s helpless, just as he’s always been. Never able to protect himself, always having to rely on his father’s money, roof, support. Always getting Nancy to help him with his own homework in classes she’s not even in, always. Always co-dependent. Helpless, reliant on others.

He wonders if he’ll ever _be_ able to protect anyone else, the way they protect him. He owes people so much.

Finally, Billy’s form arises in a blur, duffle bag in hand just as familiar as the one Steve saw at school. It’s not the same one from school, he can tell by the blank tag on the strap and the broken zipper. It looks emptier, a little flatter.

Then Billy tosses the straps aside, and all Steve can look at is his hair. It’s fluffier now, softer looking. Messier and _gorgeous._ Not at all flat like the bag.

Then, “Look away, Harrington.”

“What?” He narrows his eyes.

Billy doesn’t look up, just licks his lips, tense. “Look away.” His voice is low, gravelly. It grips Steve. He should _listen._ He already betrayed Billy’s trust before. But what harm _will_ it do? Billy’s probably lied to him on multiple occasions already, just like he did with Nancy’s situation. So.

He doesn’t look away.

Instead he looks right at the bag, leans in a little even. “Open it,” he dares.

And Billy does.

His fingers hesitate at the zipper, but when Steve doesn’t move, he unzips the bag as quick as day. There’s no money in it.

Guns.

Knives.

Trackers, magazines, straps.

And when Steve looks in the corner, there’s a burner phone or two buried in the pile. And he chokes up in sudden fear.

His eyes are wide, he feels the blood drain from his face and he _knows_ he looks pale, and he’s so grateful Billy hasn’t looked up.

It’s silly, to feel like _he’s_ the one in the wrong. Like if Billy saw him, scared shitless and all, Billy would think he’s a pansy. To feel like he _is_ one. But he can’t handle this sight, and by the sounds coming from the back of his mind, he understands why Billy would want him to look away.

It’s all just a confirmation of bad business. _Billy Hargrove_ stuff.

Things Steve almost forgot about.

Of course, it would never be as simple as _money._ Never be as simple as strip clubs, _debt._

It would always be _Billy fucking Hargrove_ stuff.

“I told you,” Billy states like Steve’s a kid. He heard the silence, it seems.

Steve huffs, moves his lips around to try and find the words, but as Billy’s fingers move towards some sleek, bigger gun the size of his arm so quickly with experience, he realizes he’s got nothing to say. So he hums. He doesn’t try looking up, he doesn’t want to. He pretends those big, tanned hands belong to someone else. Pretends he doesn’t see the leather cuffs of his jacket, acts like he’s just watching a movie.

He so badly wishes he was.

And, “Where’s your car?” as Billy’s running his fingers along each firearm, each _weapon,_ almost admiringly. Familiarly. Steve stays quiet, watching. Nobody talks during movies, his mom taught him that.

Then. “Where’s. Your. _Car?”_ the man hisses, lifting a smaller pistol out of the bag. Relief fills Steve, but it’s not right. It never will be, will it?

It comes out soft. Broken. “I’m --” he breathes, shakily, “-- not taking you to it.”

He _can’t._

Those hands return when the pistol’s placed on the counter, and instead, they grab a strap, and a magazine, and they place them next to the pistol. Steve watches.

“What was that, princess?”

His face scrunches, and he dares looking up. Right at.

_Hargrove._

Just another _Hargrove._ Just some _guy._ Some _asshole._ Some _troublemaker._

Despite that, his eyes feel wet. Vision blurry. He wants to take his contacts right out, forget the man right in front of him. He knows his vision isn’t that bad though, he’ll still see that strong, broad silhouette with its leather jacket and typical red shirt, still see that slither of a tattoo peeking out from the sleeve, still admire the contour of his jawline and still smell the strong cologne. He’ll still see _Billy Hargrove._

His chest clenches.

“I’ll take you there,” he says this time. Louder. Just as broken.

Hargrove doesn’t look up, doesn’t see the tear rolling down Steve’s face. Just hums like _of course you will, you wouldn’t dare do anything else,_ and Steve knows. Knows it’s true. Hates it.

He still feels sick to the stomach.

“Pick it up,” Billy says.

_What?_

Steve realizes his phone’s ringing from his pocket, vibrating wildly. Shakily, he takes it out with cold hands and answers. Doesn’t put it on speaker, even if Hargrove’s eyes flit over to him for just a moment expectantly. He holds it up to his ear instead.

 _“Steve, we’re at Billy’s. Nobody’s here, but…”_ Tommy’s voice trails off.

“I know. We got a call,” Steve mutters. His voice cracks.

And just with his crack, Hargrove stops. Like something hit him. But he doesn’t look up, he just pauses.

_“A call? Holy shit -- what. Fuck, is Max okay? The door was broken in, but there’s nothing else. Billy’s window is open. Did she run?”_

“No,” he breathes through his mouth, blinks away the tears, “I don’t think she got far. We got a call from her phone, from someone. He said… he told me, I can’t hide forever.”

_“You?”_

“It’s all my fault.”

 _Billy_ looks at him.

Tears are running freely down Steve’s face, and he’s cold. So cold. Shaking.

_“No, no, don’t say that, man. Shit. Fuck, okay, we’ll try and scout around the place. Billy must be fucked up right now, check in with him if he’s not there already. I’ll tell Heather, don’t fucking move a peep, you might fall into his trap. See you soon, Steve. Be careful.”_

The call ends with a beep, but Steve keeps the phone pressed against his ear. He doesn’t want to hear Hargrove.

Still, the beep is loud for the both of them. The only sound in the bar, save for the faint music playing over the speakers. But he can’t move. He can’t, not with those glaring eyes on him, when he’s crying.

Then Hargrove looks away and starts strapping himself up.

“I’ll be outside,” Steve announces.

 _“No,”_ Hargrove denies. Doesn’t add on.

 _What,_ so Hargrove _wants_ him to see this shit now?

All Steve can feel is lost.

What did he expect?

 _Why_ are the guns the ones that set him off?

He thinks maybe it has to do with the gunshots he can hear in his ears just thinking about them. He can so vaguely recall those times a gun was pointed at him. He wonders if Hargrove will add on to those experiences one day, if he says something wrong, does something wrong, _thinks_ something wrong.

When they get to the car, Hargrove drives and Steve stays in the back seats, curled up on his side with his eyes closed. Pretends he’s just a kid again, on a road trip with his parents and his dog Rocky, who was taken by even more gunshots in less than a year of having him.

And Hargrove asks, “Do you still care?”

And Steve says nothing.

  
  


Heather greets Steve with a tight hug, and Tommy stands there summarizing the state of the “neighborhood” to Hargrove. Honestly, Steve is exhausted. He fell asleep on the ride and nearly got left in the car on his own.

This “neighborhood”, though… nothing like what Steve would expect someone like Hargrove to live in.

He expected big, luxurious, scary and filled.

Instead it’s abandoned, desolate, not unlike a suburb but just. Not full of people at all. There are no houses, just some two-story house in the middle of nowhere with quite a few trees around it. In fact, the house looks almost poor; old. Tommy refers to the whole area as a “neighborhood”, convincing Steve entirely that Hagan does _not_ know what that is, but.

Maybe it’s just a way to convince Hargrove he’s not completely alone out here.

But that’s probably just bullshit.

Who _really_ knows Hargrove in the end, after all?

“Did you get any more calls?” Heather says, quietly. She’s let go of Steve and they’re not too far from Hargrove and Tommy, but they’re just out of ear shot.

“No.” He glances around. “Does Hargrove kill?”

It’s very sudden, clear on the surprise written on Heather’s face. But she answers nonetheless.

“He hurts.”

Right. Of course.

“Did he hurt that girl who missed out on school?” Steve asks. He doesn’t expect an answer.

He doesn’t get one.

She smiles, tight-lipped, and looks off into the trees. “So,” she moves a piece of her hair behind her ears. _She looks pretty,_ Steve notes. He can see her and Hargrove being _partners in crime_ together. “As it turns out, Max has a tracker in her skateboard and her shoes. Neil gave us the password to his computer, said Billy could get into it and find her. Apparently he’d know.”

_So he’s a stalker himself too._

“Cool,” Steve smiles back, just as tight. He looks past her, at Hargrove. “He got a mic and camera on her clothes, too?”

“Steve.” Heather bites her lip.

“I’m joking,” he laughs, “just fun and games. You use guns as well?”

“Sometimes,” she confesses pitifully. It’s honest.

Steve smiles wider. “I hate you.”

He doesn’t.

But Heather looks downcast, her brows knit and she worries her bottom lip even more and it fills Steve with.

Well, self-hatred for the most part.

And he feels not only does he deserve it, but they do as well. So he pushes past her to make his way towards Tommy and Hargrove. “You two done?” He asks.

Tommy nods, “Yeah, Billy?”

Hargrove doesn’t say anything and starts heading for the house, leaving everyone to follow closely behind until they’re all inside, door shut behind them.

The inside is just as empty as the outside. The windows are all open, and it’s… nothing special.

Steve can see a lot of dust, cracks and even mold. It seems like it’s _sturdy,_ stable, but so… abandoned. Nobody would think that somebody actually lived in this house. It’s not as big on the inside as it looks on the outside. There’s nothing that sticks out, no family photos or portraits or anything. Just an empty home with some dusty boxes and bags scattered around. Hargrove looks empty, expressionless as he walks up the creaky stairs. Nobody follows.

Steve does. Nobody stops him.

He follows a fair distance behind Hargrove, up to a room that he can only assume is Neil’s office. It’s not in the best condition either, the sun shines in from the presumably only closed window in the house, but it has bookshelves and a neat desk in the middle with papers and a laptop. There’s only one duffle bag in the corner, and Steve doesn’t have to think to know what it likely has.

So he’s a bit hurt. A little lost. Who can blame him? He… really likes Hargrove. That he knows, too well. He can’t stop that. But he’s liking _trouble._ He’s falling for something he’ll never be able to turn back from if he gets in too deep.

As he watches Hargrove sit down on the big chair to turn the laptop on with a plastered-on frown, Steve stays by the door.

_But is Hargrove the bad person here?_

Because Hargrove is trouble, but _Billy Hargrove_ doesn’t expect much from Steve like the rest of his friends. Because Hargrove might jeopardize lives, but _Billy Hargrove_ saved Steve’s. But Billy is still a Hargrove, and he isn’t much different. He _hurts,_ he scares, he threatens, he _warns,_ he _delivers,_ he’s the gunshots Steve heard when he was just six trying to protect his dog. _Billy’s_ the guns Steve’s been warned about since elementary, the kind of thing nobody should be exposed to. Billy’s the kind of person to leave scars, not kill.

But Billy also hurts.

Not others.

He _hurts._

When he punched Steve, he hugged him right after, he felt _hurt_ by his own action. When he found out Max was in danger, he rushed for the guns, he was and _is_ hurt. He _bleeds_ the same blood Steve does. He… he said it himself. He didn’t want to be here.

He’s not a Hargrove by will.

Neil sounds like a dickhead.

Jesus, Steve’s thinking so much. But he has to. He has to know what he’s getting into.

Because he, really wants to understand Billy.

Because he…

 _“I love you,”_ he whispers incredulously under his breath, so incredibly soft and painful.

And Billy looks up, brows furrowed. “Sorry?”

He feels his cheeks heat up, but he remains still-faced and leans against the wall. “Nothing.”

Billy’s eyes shine in the day, his freckles adore every crevice of his face, every pore, sprinkled like stars. The sun reflects in his eyes, as he stares at Steve, curious.

This time, Steve can breathe. He smiles. It’ll be okay.

“Sorry,” Billy mutters. He goes back to the laptop, typing away. It hurts.

_Sorry._

_What for?_

Steve looks down, and shrugs. _I’ll never stop forgiving you, will I?_ He thinks almost amused. He’s helpless.

Then, Heather and Tommy come in after a few minutes. They look between Billy and Steve, just for a moment, and exchange a look. But they say nothing, so, it’s fine.

“Found it!” Billy near-shouts, jumping out of his seat, startling everyone. Heather runs over and peers over his shoulder, “Shit, that’s by the city. It’s like, half an hour away. Twenty-five if we’re lucky.”

“Make that fifteen,” Steve says, tossing his car keys to Tommy who looks at him with wide, sparkling eyes, “let’s go.”

Billy rises from his chair, _“Fifteen?”_

“Tommy stole my dad’s car millions of times, he’s got a history of speeding tickets and shortcut knowledge. Also probably still needs to pay for all that damage --”

"-- shut up!” Tommy shouts embarrassed, already running out the room with Heather behind him. Steve locks eyes with Billy for a moment, and mouths, “I owe you.”

If his car gets a few scratches on the way, fuck it. What matters is Max will be safe, and Billy…

Well, here’s to hoping Billy and Max can get away from whoever this Neil asshat is.

When they get in the car, Billy pushes against Steve while putting his seatbelts in, Heather riding shotgun and Tommy already turning on the radio, trying to keep a straight face.

“You don’t owe me,” Billy whispers.

Steve scoffs, nudges him with his shoulder, “I’m not some good for nothing _fag,_ Billy. I’ll own up, you saved me twice. I owe you a lot.”

“I don’t have anything against…”

“It’s okay,” he sighs, a little amused, mostly rushed as Tommy’s pulling out the driveway, “love me or hate me, that won’t stop me. I still care about you.”

A late answer. But he wants Billy to know that.

Because throughout the whole bumpy, screamy ride, he knows the entire thing’s a trap.

And when they get there, walking into the abandoned warehouse, he’s already shoving Billy far away from him when he walks to the middle, right to where _they_ would want him to be.

“Steve! What the fuck --”

The sounds of metal and objects hitting the ground echo, and gas weighs in on them.

“Run!” Steve shouts, and Heather doesn’t hesitate to grab Billy, who struggles and tries to go for Steve. “Billy, I said run!”

“Why the _fuck_ would I _run?!”_ Billy screams, coughing. As he gets weaker, Heather manages to pull him completely out the warehouse through the side-doors, Tommy hesitating.

“Steve…” “Tommy, just go! They want _me!”_

Tommy looks like he’s about to cry, and it’s one of those moments Steve remembers.

He’s just a kid. Just some kid who has poor eating habits, who’s been picked on before he got picked up, who experienced all of _this_ bullshit long before Steve, whose only _real_ friend was ever Steve.

And his head’s getting lighter, and the air’s getting heavier and he’s losing his breath.

Then Heather reaches in once Billy’s out, and she pulls Tommy away.

And somebody grabs Steve’s arm, and his heavy lids droop shut.

  
  


There’s ringing.

The kind that comes from a phone, the kind that wakes you up or starts off a movie, a consistent kind of loud coming from what should be the bedside table with an anonymous caller or a familiar friend. Setting the scene. The kind you’d reach out for, eyes closed, sluggishly with your fingers and roll over your bed to get to.

When the ringing registers, he does not open his eyes. Nor does he roll over, or stretch his arm and fingers.

He can’t move his limbs, can’t find it in himself to open his eyes to acknowledge what’s happening. He can only breathe, hear somebody else pick up the phone. There is no pillow under him, nor sheets or a blanket over him.

In fact, he’s sitting up. Arms tied behind his back, legs tied to two pillars, presumably the legs of a chair, and head falling back on nothing. He can feel the blood rushing to his head, his contacts gone and light tears rolling down his cheeks.

 _“... they expect it by tomorrow, Mr. Harrington,”_ a voice says besides Steve. It’s got a thick accent, and he recognizes it immediately by its tone. His stalker, his _killer._

Oh, so it’s time.

He knew that Billy wouldn’t see through the trap. He knew Billy wouldn’t know, because Billy’s just as flawed as anyone, and Billy was blinded with _anger._ He wanted his sister, and he _hurts,_ he doesn’t get into situations where he himself is outpowered or outnumbered enough to _be_ hurt unelss he _wants_ to. He only delivers, never quite gets. And Steve knew Billy wouldn’t be thinking, and Heather wouldn’t quite care.

Because Steve _hates_ Heather, that’s what he told her. And Heather cares about Billy like a sibling, and doesn’t have much of an attachment to Steve. She wouldn’t stay, and she’d make sure Billy wouldn’t as well. She’d keep him out of danger, leave Steve with it.

_“... the girl was given back…”_

Rocky was seven weeks old. He was a nice Saint Bernard, no older than Steve’s neighbor’s dog. He _loved_ walks and meeting other puppies, jumped on the bed with Steve and pounced on him anytime he was home like a cat. Lathered him in kisses Steve loved. And oh, Steve was just _six_ when armed intruders came into the estate, threatening his poor mom. And his dad had told Steve to hide in the closet, stay behind the clothes and said _don’t move an inch, you hear me?_

And Steve obeyed, with Rocky in his arms, helplessly.

Then gunshots were heard downstairs not too long after his dad left him, followed by his mom screaming, and Rocky ran out of his arms and Steve ran too. Rocky was faster, and Steve was only halfway down the stairs when he heard one of the intruders yelling and cussing at the dog, who was _just seven weeks,_ barking and _tugging_ on their pants because he didn’t know what to do. And Steve watched from the stairs, wide-eyed, wondering where his father was, why his mom was on the ground and not doing something, why she was twitching and why couldn’t _he move and,_

The man pointed his gun at Rocky, and Steve remembers bolting down the stairs and tackling him. Remembers crying and scratching at his arms, trying to reach for the gun with his small hands cluelessly. He didn’t know what he was doing, the man didn’t even fall, but he was scared and he knew he had to do something.

Rocky was barking, loud and then the other bad man came in, and then another, and then Steve’s mother was sobbing behind him and choking on something, and then his dad came running down the stairs when a gun was pointed at him and screamed and begged.

Then, Steve got pushed to the ground and Rocky jumped at the man’s face. And he screamed, struggled, until another one raised his gun and pointed at Rocky.

And it was all gunshots from there.

_“... tonight. By tonight, or he’s dead…”_

There were always deals with Steve. He almost forgot about them, they were all kept poorly behind closed curtains until he was six, turning seven. After that invasion, they moved out of their big estate into a smaller, calmer home. Same area, different neighborhood. Less _rich,_ more isolated. More closer to the police station as well.

Before that, he would walk past his father’s office constantly and hear him talking on the phone with men that wanted the company. Cracking deals, asking about things. And there were some threatening, saying they’d take Steve if his dad didn’t listen. His dad never did, but hearing those threats kept Steve up at night.

He heard the deals though, he heard enough. He knows his father planned on taking him to some big shot uni only to force him to work for his company, eventually take over. He knew his father was gonna retire, and take up a deal when Steve’s thirty to hand him over to another company for a merging. He knew his own _dad_ wanted to marry Steve off to someone he didn’t know, he knew his dad sounded elaborate in the way he wanted to do it, claiming that it would be subtle and would be a _build up._ He met the girl, Tommy met the girl.

The one that ended up wanting to marry her was not Steve. It was Tommy, sweeping Carol off her feet at like, seventh grade. Steve didn’t mind in the slightest. They all got along in the end.

_“Is he awake?”_

And his eyes open.

He wants to think more, wants to break apart his life, down to the molecule. Wants to admire Billy a little more, forgive Nancy and Jonathan a little more, remember hugging his mother again…

Pain suddenly erupts from Steve’s jaw as he’s punched awake, gasping.

“Steve Harrington,” his stalker says, bending to look him in the face. Steve spits, because he doesn’t care. He can think, reminisce, in the afterlife.

And his stalker flinches, much to his satisfaction, then slaps him.

It stings. What does he expect? Still, dick move, and he’s a little irritated. “Fuck you,” he says.

The man tuts, straightens himself and starts circling him like prey. Two others stay in the room, in the far corners. Steve can’t see so far as to make out their faces, but he can vaguely make out his surroundings. With what it is, anyways.

A dark, gray-blue room with rusty walls and nothing but his chair in it. Also some table in the middle of the men with equipment like a camera, tripods, guns and magazines, and _syringes._ Nothing that looks like they plan on letting him live, anyways.

He chuckles.

“Close with your father, eh?” The man asks. He stays quiet, looks at the table. “Curious?” Stalker continues, gesturing towards the table. “So we can record you getting shot tonight. It will be entertaining for us, bad for father.”

Of course.

Despite his outward nonchalant attitude, he feels fear creeping up in him. He wants to throw up, and he’s scared of having his life taken away from him so soon. He had a life to live, a big one where he’d… well, he doesn’t know for _sure,_ but he’d do _something._ And he’d do it damn well, with a wife, or, a… a husband, and a nice house, and nothing to worry about.

Still, he’s afraid of death.

Will it be painful? Will he see white? Will he go to heaven, hell, neither?

His fate lies undetermined, much to his displeasure. He wonders if it was worth it.

Saving Billy and Max was definitely impulsive, but it would be selfish to let them hurt Max. It would be _awful_ to think about letting them touch Billy. So maybe this was inevitable anyways. He can only hope Billy will forgive him, and understand. He can only hope Max will be okay, and Tommy will graduate with Carol.

Still. Steve feels that underlying fear of everything catch up, and he knows he’s about to choke up and cry. Knows in his last moments, he’ll be sobbing heaps and heaps until he’s shut up by the same gunshots that attacked Rocky.

And he realizes, when his eyes refocus, that the men have started setting up the tripod in front of him. They’re experienced, straight-faced, but he can _taste_ their amusement.

“You’re all fucked up,” he spits, _croaks._

They laugh among themselves, disgustingly, and his stalker places the camera on the tripod. Fixes it. “We are just doing our jobs.”

_Fuck you._

He wants to say it again, but he can’t move his mouth. So he just glares, tries not to think about anything.

Somehow, not thinking of anything makes it worse. He can’t be living his final moments ignorant.

The men finish up and unlock the heavy door, then leave Steve all alone. No goodbyes, nothing.

And he hears the rain, and he realizes he’s in the middle of nowhere. And he’s got no phone in his pocket, no tracker on his body, _nothing._ The only tracker he had was the bracelet his mother gave him that he _broke._

So like any sensible person, he chokes up and he cries.

The tears roll down his cheeks in fat globs, hitting the ground loudly in the quiet and forcing him to hear his own pathetic, wretched sobs. “I fucking hate this world,” he sobs wetly, squeezes his eyes shut but finds that makes it scarier and forces them open to stare down at his lap. He’s shaking, crying and hyperventilating.

He misses everyone already.

Misses fresh air and sinking into grass, and the normal _Billy_ stuff. Normal punches, normal fighting in class, normal competitive advice in basketball, normal longing glances at parties.

But he knows it definitely didn’t start with Billy stuff, and it never will end with _Billy_ stuff. Just his own stuff. _Steve Harrington_ shit.

Careless father, dead bodyguard, cheating ex-girlfriend, weak and irresponsible best friend, early-symptoms-of-dementia mother, _fuck._ The whole package. Steve’s own problems. He was never any better than Billy, really. Yeah, he probably wasn’t exposed to fucked up shit like guns and gangs and _all that_ growing up, he doesn’t have a _step-mother,_ but he’s his own kind of fucked up. And he’s the one who expects others to help him. Always so helpless. Billy at least can help himself.

Steve sobs, sobs for what feels like hours until his tears run dry and all he can do is hyperventilate, shiver in his cold chair in the middle of _nowhere_ as he just. Sits. Helpless.

He doesn’t wanna be helpless anymore.

_How?_

And then, he hears rain.

It’s harder than before, but it lets him know something.

He’s _somewhere._

The rain hits the roof, hits the walls. He can get out, he just… he has a chance.

So he starts rattling the chair, finds it’s screwed to the ground and _groans,_ “Fucking piece of _shit!”_ and he pushes, tries ripping it like that’ll do anything.

Well, if he can’t work with the chair, he’s got his arms and his legs.

His legs are bound by the ankles, his arms by the wrists, so he’s got an idea.

Steve raises his hips a little, to the best of his abilities, and starts easing his arms up to try and bring them over the chair. It doesn’t work at all, and he drops back down with bated breaths. So he decides to try a different approach.

He looks around the room, still searching, and thinks _hard._ There has to be _something._

There’s not a lot at all. But he won’t give up. He tests his legs, and _bingo._ The belts there aren't very secure, and he shakes a little more, starts trying to draw his knees up until he feels them give.

His flesh squeeze and the belt ends dig into his skin, definitely leaving a mark, but he points his toes and _finally_ manages to rip one foot out. His shoe comes off, his sock half-off, but he managed. Thank _god._ He waves his foot around to alleviate some of the sting.

Now, the camera’s not too far from Steve. He stretches his leg out and barely reaches the tripod with the tip of his toe. Thank god the shoe’s off, because he can curl his toes enough to move it in a little more until he can start pulling it in with his foot. It’s a struggle, and he can feel the belts dig into his limbs all the while he stretches, but he manages to move it in enough to be touching his knees.

With a swift kick, he pushes the tripod so that it manages to swing around the chair and land on his arm. His leg’s useless at this point, but he shimmies his shoulders enough for the tripod to slowly slide down his arm until his hands can feel the camera.

“Finally,” he mutters with a relieved breath. He feels for the strap of the camera, stares at the door, and gets to work.

  
  


“What the _fuck_ Heather!” Billy shouts, pushes her back and bangs on the door pathetically.

“Billy, calm _down,”_ she says, cautiously driving the car away from the warehouse. Tommy sits near her uncertainly, fidgeting.

This is _bullshit._

Steve could fucking _die,_ this was Billy’s _job,_ why did he push him away?

Billy had only just started recovering from the effects of the gas, immediately opting to yell at Heather and punch the doors as she drives. “I can’t fucking believe you, that was Steve _fuckin’_ Harrington you just _left behind --”_

 _“Billy!”_ She cuts him off, angry. “I’m sick, okay? I _know_ who that was, I’m acutely afuckingware of _what happened_ so you can shut the _fuck_ up about that now, just _trust_ me! He knew it was a fucking trap.”

Oh.

Billy’s a bit taken aback for a moment, because Heather doesn’t usually snap at him like this. Tommy seems to be as well, as he’s looking at her with wide eyes. But it doesn’t _make sense._

“If he knew… why would he…”

“Because I don’t know! Neil texted me just earlier saying that Max is back, and, well, _considering that call,_ maybe it’s that Steve knew they just wanted him? Maybe he was trying to keep you two fucking safe? Jesus, Billy, pay some fucking attention!”

“I was fucking unconscious!” He yells.

“Could you guys stop fucking shouting!” Tommy shouts.

It’s quiet, but Billy’s heart is racing. He’s _angry,_ and he wants some fucking answers. He bangs on the door again, avoiding the window because it’s not _his_ car, and he screams into his hands. “Where the _fuck_ are we going, Heather?”

“Where are your trackers hooked up to?”

What?

“My house?” He answers, suspicious. “What the fuck did you do?”

“We’re going to your house. I tracked Steve.”

_What?_

“Since fucking _when?”_ Tommy and Billy ask at the same time, both seemingly offended.

“Jesus, take a chill pill, you two. When I _hugged_ him.”

“When did you _hug_ him?” Billy asks, because she’s hugged Steve quite a few fucking times.

“Don’t get all possessive now, B, it was back outside your house.” _“Possessive?”_

“Possessive?” Tommy copies, “Wait, like… _oh,_ Billy, do you…?”

Realization shows up on Tommy’s face, and what can only be described as pure _sadistic amusement_ forms on Heather’s with a slight twitch of her lips. Billy _scowls._ “No, I fuckin’ don’t. I’m. I’m not a fucking --”

“-- fag, yeah, I’ve heard that bullshit loads of times before. Oh my god, you totally like him. What the hell!” Tommy’s _freaking out,_ eyes wide and looking out the window and Billy at the same time in disbelief. “Wait, you _do,_ right?”

“He does,” Heather confirms. _What the hell._

Billy slaps both of them upside the head, because _they deserve it,_ and spits, “How long ‘til we get there? We’re wasting time.”

“Like, eight minutes, I’d say,” Heather sighs.

“Make that two.”

Heather looks at Billy like he’s an idiot, but Tommy’s eyes shine in a way he’s not quite seen in a hot minute.

“Stop the car,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shorter than i expected but i was writing a Really Long Thing and i had to split it so!! split here hgdhcb hope that it sounds okay so far!! :))
> 
> thank you for reading!!


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